


Crimson Ties

by ch1ps0h0y



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch1ps0h0y/pseuds/ch1ps0h0y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where the existence of vampires and demons and their ilk are an accepted fact, the Vongola Association is an international, highly successful vampire-hunting organisation established to help cull and manage the blood-drinking population. Their current leader is one Sawada Tsunayoshi - a man who desires peace between the two races rather than bloodshed. But as he will soon find, his idyllic dream is not one shared by everybody...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The characters have been taken from various points in time, at different ages, so it's advised the reader plunges into the story with no preconceptions. Just because Hibari might be on the cusp of adulthood, doesn't mean that the rest of the Vongola are as well. They are each at an age that best suits this fic, and when it comes to vampires especially I shouldn't have to say their apparent age can be terribly misleading.
> 
> This fanfic uses British English and the Japanese system for names (last name/first name).
> 
> A big thank you to Remo for her support and suggestions and injecting some much-needed humour during the process. (And for being the first to read and beta my fic.) \o/ If I could physically hug you, I would.

"Time," he suddenly announced. The small posse who currently kept him company hushed to hear his next words. The silence stretched on, turning from seconds into minutes. He picked up a glass and admired the amber liquid held behind its flawless crystal surface before taking a delicate sip. Avid eyes watched as his tongue flicked across pink lips.

"It is a precious thing," he finally continued. "Time." That last word was enunciated once more in case his listeners should have forgotten the topic at hand. All nodded.

"The ages flit by and pass from one to the next. Generations are born, live their time, and then fade into death. We mark the passing of each year with a celebration because to think of it as being another year wasted is too harsh a reality for humans with their temporary lives to accept. Time is a gift that should be treasured. Cherished. Any day could be your last." With that he smiled at the assemblage who curved in a crescent to his left and right. "And on that note, I thank you for celebrating my 424th birthday today." The rest quickly followed suit as he raised his glass in a toast.

"A Good Sunday to all," he said with a thin smile.

"Many happy returns to you yourself, master," responded one of the lads with a wide grin. A chuckle ran through the group but none drank until their master had first done so. Then - and _only_ then - did they allow themselves to begin the festivities.

He watched with a near-affectionate smile playing upon his lips as they sculled glass after glass of hard liquor down like it was no more than water. Some of the perks of being undead included the staunch inability to get themselves drunk on alcohol. While that was a pity at times, it did provide them with an easy supply of victims bloated on alcohol, the over-consumption of which added a pleasant tincture to their blood.

One such girl, lured by the innate power and aura exuded by these pale, flawless creatures, was now pleasantly inebriated. Her bronze curls slid over her shoulder while her seducer gently ran his teeth over her warm, pulsing skin as she sighed with pleasure and willingly opened up to them. Only _he_ saw the small, sharp fangs which unsheathed themselves as they poised over creamy flesh. Only _he_ saw the way they punctured the skin before lips covered them, and the sluggish flow of dark blood seeping out from beneath them.

He ran his tongue over burgeoning canines, longing to sink them into some mortal's living body. Oh, how he wanted to be the one who had that girl in his thrall. To delight in the sensuous way their body would curve against his as they fair fainted at his murmured words and melted at his touch. Only a slight dilation of the pupils gave his lust away and the fancy passed as quickly as it had struck him. There would be time enough to indulge, he told himself, taking another draught of whiskey and sitting back while his companions fed off their human partners. After all, they had the entire night to enjoy themselves.

No sooner had he had that thought when one of the lesser demons flitted on tiny bat-like wings to whisper into the ear of the vampire who stood guard at the entrance to their reclusive club. Conversation ceased. The soft piano tinkling in the background also fell silent. All eyes were on the little imp as it darted back the way it came. The attendant turned to his watchers, shook his head and held up two fingers tipped with sharpened nails.

Two minutes to evacuate before trouble arrived. Trouble in the form of those who wished to see them sent to their final rest.

Without another word, the vampires began to dissipate, turning into a black, formless mist that hung in the air before coalescing into a tangible form - those of bats. Those older, more powerful, could take on any animal being that was their preference. But this night club was hardly the sort of place frequented by the socially elite.

Whatever humans had been taken would have to remain. Shortly thereafter, a chittering, rustling horde of bats would be seen to surge from vents craftily constructed to lead up to the surface where the moon usually waited to welcome them with its soft light. Tonight their dark forms would go unnoticed, for by good fortune it was the time of the new moon. None would comment on the unusual group of bats flapping away tonight the next day.

He stood with a casual, arrogant grace that only came from centuries of perfection. The rest of his companions had already fled, leaving unconscious women sprawled across the wide cushioned seats. He took the time to finish his drink (he would be burned before letting any of his money go to waste), a sneer curling his upper lip as he eyed one of the morsels chosen by his men. Some youngsters really would settle for just about anything nowadays. No eye for quality at all. No patience.

He was just setting the glass down when several black-clad men and women stormed down the stairs - they created an enormous ruckus - and with a smirk he turned to face them as they all pointed their silver weapons at his person.

"Too slow." His glowing eyes and his grin were the last to vanish as he too dissolved into a shapeless cloud and escaped in the form of a snowy owl. He could hear them cry out in frustration, and had his animal form been able to he would have laughed long and loud as the cool air hit him, ruffling his thick feathers.

_Freedom._

oOo

Hibari Kyouya liked those moments when one could sit back, close their eyes and hear nothing but the quiet tick-tick, tick-tick of the clock. He liked it especially when it was so peaceful that the only thing he needed to worry about was remembering to take regular, steady breaths to keep himself alive. Inhale, exhale. Expand and contract. Take in calmness, release frustration.

This normally calming meditative tactic was failing to help ease his temper when he found himself standing in line behind a trio of fools who could not seem to understand the words written on the cheap, plastic plaque screwed into the wall to their left: 'Please keep noise to a minimum.'

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

He was calm, yes, a lotus poised upon its leafy pad in the middle of an absolutely still pond of deep blue, crystalline water. The slightest ripple would jolt him, buoying him up and down on its tiny crests and troughs.

Hibari was physically grinding his teeth by the time the threesome was sent on their way. He stepped up to the receptionist and bluntly informed her of a prearranged meeting he had, not feeling the slightest bit of satisfaction when the colour drained from her face, nor when she asked in a stammer for his name and typed it furiously into her computer to bring up the record of his appointment.

After being pointed towards the appropriate door - the location of which he already knew - he swept towards it without another word, ignoring the admiring or awed glances he received. His reputation was revered here, almost frighteningly so. They all seemed to hold him in high regard for slaying a century-old vampire or some such. Or had it been two hundred? He never remembered their ages. Hibari really couldn't see what all the fuss was about and it was the one reason why he absolutely hated coming here - all the whispers, the pointless gaping, the crowds which formed whenever he tried to move around the complex.

The soles of his dull work boots squeaked on polished tiles laid in unerring rows and columns, all cast with the same pearly white gleam. The spacious foyer was neatly cluttered with half-rings of soft leather armchairs and natural light fell plentifully from the darkly tinted wall-length windows that lined one side. Stacks of reading material pertaining to a smattering of topics from the mundane to the occult were placed neatly on round tables in the centre of the arrangements of these chairs, and the few visitors who occupied them glanced up disinterestedly as Hibari walked by to a door set the furthest away from the waiting area. There was no name plate on this door or any of the other doors, but everyone knew whose it was.

He turned the knob and let himself in without so much as a knock to introduce himself, and had the privilege of seeing the room's occupant - a man who had clearly been sleeping upon the sheets of paper scattered over his desk until Hibari had walked in - come awake immediately, squealing:

" _I'm working I'm working don't hit me_ \-- oh." The man sighed and slumped back in his chair with palpable relief. "It's only you, Hibari."

Hibari made no secret of his disdain. "You sent for me?" he prompted in clipped tones. The ice in his gaze indicated he clearly had not liked being summoned.

"Yes..." Another sigh as the other man carded his fingers through messy chestnut hair that stuck up everywhere in uneven clumps. "There are reports of a coven migrating from the north. They're not part of the treaty and they're heading towards your territory," here he gave Hibari a pointed look, "so I thought you would like to take care of them. Scare them off or whatever you feel is appropriate."

"But no killing." The words were frost-coated enough to make the other flinch.

"No, no killing," the brunette asserted sternly, then adding, "if you can help it." Which also meant: 'I'd really rather you did as I told you for once but we both know that isn't going to happen.'

"Very well." Hibari was gone in less than a heartbeat, out the door before he could be called back, away across the foyer before the stares and whisperings could resume. Once outside he sucked in air laden with moisture and let it out again with a near-inaudible sigh. Buildings were stifling. More so in the approach to summer.

He began to walk with no clear destination in mind. Those he passed kept out of his way and any who failed to notice the threat soon learned their place. His flint-like eyes scanned the swarming crowds and his lip curled as if they were flies he dearly wished to swat. Herbivores.

The streets were safe because the sun still hung bright in the sky and there were at least five hours left before sunset. Shoppers could be assured of relative peace while they perused the latest fashions and scoured windows for the best bargains that could be found. Hibari ignored them in his single-minded way, wishing it were already night so he could bite more worthy foes to death.

As it was, he had to be content with the group of masked men who chose that moment to rob a jewellery store. The sound of breaking glass shattered the joviality of the chattering crowds; an alarm blared; the gang began haphazardly scooping necklaces, earrings, bracelets and rings glittering in their rainbow hues while shoppers milled in confusion and panic. Screams added to the mayhem when some of the men yanked out guns to keep any do-gooders at a respectable distance, and to clear a path so they could make their escape.

Unluckily for them, Hibari happened to be positioned in the middle of that path.

One man dared to point the muzzle of his gun at the calm teen standing between their way and freedom. A smirk marred his square-jawed face. Then there was a clatter and he was staring dumbly at his hand, now bent back at an impossible angle. Before the gunman could scream or his friends notice just what demon they had enraged by their brazen act of undisciplined behaviour, the wrathful whirlwind which was Hibari Kyouya was upon them: where metal flashed, limbs snapped, skulls caved in, noses were mercilessly broken. In seconds, the would-be robbers were a pathetic heap at his feet and not one drop of their blood stained his clothes. He cleaned the gleaming metal of his tonfa on their clothing and tugged their flimsy stocking masks off, trusting the onlookers to call the police to deal with the troublemakers. Then he stepped around them and continued his walk.

Hibari had been the watchful protector of these streets since his teenage years. He had kept discipline from falling slack by punishing those who overstepped the bounds of public peace with his two steel weapons, the kind that he had just wielded. Fear and repetition, he felt, were the only ways to enforce his brand of justice upon the disruptors, because force only listened to even greater force, and though this relatively quiet town was a good distance away from the looming metropolitan towers of many of the major cities, it nevertheless required a firm, guiding hand.

This town's name was Namimori and it was a quaint little place. It was neither large, nor small; neither urban nor industrial. Here, rigidly defined streets were boxed on one side by high walls and bordered on the other by well-maintained roads. Behind these walls crouched houses no more than two storeys high which rarely sprawled past their allotted squarish, rectangular plots of land. Gardens were kept neat, and most of the neighbours were friendly, if not polite. There was a decent variety of shops and even two schools, catering for all years up to the third year of junior high, which comfortably managed the education of all the students in the area. All in all, an idyllic place to reside in.

Then there was Kokuyo which sat to the east, its lone educational institution (with its scandalously short skirts and military-inspired attire) long considered rivals to Namimori's own. But not in the academic sense; for the most part they coexisted without incident, but sometimes gangs would drift over the border and heckle local students. It was not a _bad_ neighbourhood (outwardly there was little to differentiate between it and Namimori) - rather, it attracted all the detritus rejected from other, more well-respected schools and their filth stained the area's reputation.

His school days had been pleasant times. If Hibari had the capacity to admit as much, he might have even said they had been enjoyable. Except age, ever the separator of generations, would have him deal no longer with unlawful youths but politicking adults, who used words not as a precursor to violence but as weapons in and of themselves. Hibari never really had grown out of his childish tendency to throw a destructive tantrum; time had only lengthened the fuse which burned oh-so-brightly before the explosion.

He stopped abruptly. Here was where his territory ended. A small green sign declared the district of Kokuyo to lie just beyond it. It was as if an invisible line lay between him and the land on the other side of that sign; he could never find it in him to step past into the next region, nor any reason for him to leave his beloved Namimori behind. So instead he turned to his left and began patrolling the invisible border.

It didn't matter whether he went into their territory or they came into his - the vampires who threatened the safety of his hometown would answer to his silver-plated tonfa once night fell.

oOo

Not a minute had passed by after the temperamental hunter had left Tsuna's office than an enraged man stormed into his office held back by his struggling, silver-haired assistant. Apparently his wife had been kidnapped by a 'monster with demonic eyes and razor-sharp fangs' and he demanded that the Association track both her and the creature down. To kill his wife if they must, since she would surely be one of the 'devil's spawn' now. Apart from a flare of anger at the callous way the man demanded his wife's death there was also some amusement at the description of the kidnapper. Couldn't people be a little more imaginative?

Tsuna had to reassure him that he and his hunters would do their very best before the man would allow himself to be escorted out peacefully, calling upon the old gods, the new gods, and any gods who would listen to smite the unholy vermin who had laid hands on his - and here Tsuna had to suppress his anger - _property_.

"Thank you, Hayato," he said to the silver-haired one when they returned. The other nodded and closed the door quietly to leave his boss to his work. And what a lot of work there was! There were stacks of reports to be signed, requests for funds, weapons, a letter of demand on payment for a shipment of silver metal, and interrupting all these were the constant visits from normal folk who came to entreat Tsuna and his organisation to return what loved ones had been taken from them by rogue Fangs (the colloquial term adopted by hunters in reference to their prey).

He did what he could to appease them, yet he could not console them all. Most left his office crying or cursing and there was not much he could do about it. What did they expect? Few could offer a comprehensive description that would allow him to permit an execution order. He staunchly refused to have his men kill indiscriminately, which of course made those who hungered for retribution distraught.

Once the last one had collapsed and had to be carried bodily from his office, the youngest hunter to ever take up the mantle of leadership for the Vongola - the most highly-respected vampire-hunting organisation in the world - face-planted in the middle of his considerable paperwork in despair. Why couldn't he please everyone? Why was it so difficult?

It was at this moment that the man who had once been the boy's tutor stepped in, shut the door behind him with a brisk snap and approached the desk.

"No slacking off, Tsuna," he said, loading a bullet in his gun. It was the click of the cartridge settling into the barrel more than anything that jolted the young brunette out of his wallowing to wave his arms wildly in front of him, as if they could deflect a lump of metal travelling in excess of a thousand metres per second at such close range.

"Don't shoot me, Reborn!" It was an automatic reaction leftover from their younger days when it was customary to fire a gun near the hapless hunter for anything as serious as mishandling his own weapon to as minor as sleeping in on weekends. Smiling humourlessly, the man holstered his gun and took his customary seat in front of his former-student's desk, legs crossed elegantly.

"Have you managed to come to an agreement with the southern covens?" he inquired. Tsuna slumped once more in his seat, the danger having passed.

"I think we're close," he replied, picking through the sheets he had just face-planted on. "Yamamoto said they hinted they may let him meet with the head of their coven in the next week or so." It was not a privilege granted lightly, and rarely to a human who was not heading there to become a meal. Tsuna rubbed the side of his neck subconsciously and grumbled, "Do they really have to bite us every time?"

"It's a common practice amongst them; a sign of trust between two vampires." Reborn readjusted his fedora, settling it more comfortably on his head. Never before had he taken it off in the presence of another person. The newer members of their society had made it into one of those myths of the unknown that were spoken of only in whispers. In reality, there was nothing extraordinary about it (or so Reborn said): it was simply a wonderful head of dark hair, combed back, with a little gel to retain its form and style the small curl beside his right cheek. Young or old, many of the female members found themselves sighing over him at least once.

"Unless," Reborn said suddenly with a tiny smirk, "you're telling me you _don't_ enjoy being fed on?"

From how flustered Tsuna suddenly was and the small blush on his cheeks, the young hunter _did_ enjoy it. "That's just the endolphins--

"Endorphins."

"--endorphins that are released when they bite! I don't actually _like_ being bitten!" he protested.

"Of course," the other man drawled. Then abruptly changing the topic: "Your little wildcard has been straying, Tsuna. You need to keep him reigned in."

This elicited a groan from the other party. No matter how many times he was told, Hibari inevitably veered off and did as he pleased, no matter that negotiations with the vampires were delicate. Having some of their number regularly killed was most certainly not incentive for the vampires to enter into an agreement with humans.

"I've been trying, I really have," the brunette said earnestly. He even had the puppy-dog eyes. "But he won't listen!"

"Then you have to do better." The tutor crossed his legs the other way and settled his hat once more upon his head. "Give him something to chew on. A hunt, maybe."

Tsuna's heart sank at the thought of how much his best hunter might demand in return for this long-term job. "He won't set foot outside Namimori--"

"He's been sighted in Italy."

That sent a chill through the young boy's entire frame. "'He'... You mean...?" Reborn nodded.

"Specifically, Milan. Tracking him down calls for our very best, wouldn't you say?"

The brunette hated it when Reborn made a point that he could not refute. "It's too dangerous, and no-one's ever caught more than a glimpse anyway..." he tried.

"Don't be foolish, Tsuna," the tutor said sharply. "Sending anyone else would be a waste of resources."

Tsuna wisely did not point out that sending one of their _very best_ on a useless chase that would more than likely see him dead before the month was out was hardly a good use of their 'resources' either. He glanced at the drawer which kept a manila folder that contained what little details they had on the elusive man - description, last known whereabouts (that would have to be updated), past deeds, details of his movements, feeding patterns - all contained in one brief paragraph.

> Bianco (alias?)  
>  Gender: Male  
>  Age: ?
> 
> Date of birth: ?  
>  Date of turning: ?  
>  Country of birth: Italy (?)
> 
> First sighted: North Hampshire, England 1621  
>  Last known whereabouts: Las Vegas, USA 1995
> 
> Affiliated with: ?
> 
> Physical description:  
>  \- Eyes: Maroon  
>  \- Hair: White  
>  \- Skin colour: Pallid (Tsuna privately thought that was a joke of the writer's)  
>  \- Height: ~6'00" (~1.8m)  
>  \- Outstanding features: None
> 
> Details:  
>  Spent most of the 17th and 18th centuries in England where he was seen to be on neutral if not amicable terms with local covens. Hunting patterns were irregular - seems to target random individuals ranging from low class to upper class, both foreign and native (this does not appear to have changed, c.1995). Migrated to northern Europe, heading steadily towards Asia where he disappeared for over a century. Next sighted in the States, staying no more than a year in each city. Last seen in Las Vegas; appears he was aware of being followed. Caution recommended when confronting.

There was also a blurry photo of the man, taken in a hurry by the tracker. It did not quite manage to capture his visage but the shock of tousled snow-white hair was clearly visible, a defining feature perhaps. Few vampires lived to an age where their hair lost its entire colour. For someone who stood well out from the crowd, he was a very elusive character to pin down. And that was part of the reason, Tsuna surmised, Reborn had suggested Hibari.

Hibari was a good, yes. Excellent even. He was like a bloodhound the way his eyes took on that wild glaze once he had caught on to a scent, and he never, ever forgot a slight. Tsuna couldn't decide if that quality was a commendable trait or if it was actually an impediment (on second thoughts - it was definitely more of an impediment). And he was so _strong_. Strong enough to match any of the dhampir trainers they had and even go head to head with a vampire. It scared him and many others. No-one dared pick a fight with Hibari.

"All right," he eventually, and very reluctantly, agreed. He wondered if the promise of strong prey would be enough to entice the short-tempered hunter. "But it's your fault if he comes back to us in pieces."

"Don't I always take responsibility for my decisions?"

Tsuna didn't even have to think twice before he replied. "No." His tutor smirked and conceded the point with a slight nod.

"I received word from the labs - they have a new weapon which has passed all of the preliminary tests. They asked if you could be present for a demonstration of its capabilities."

"Already? That was fast." Tsuna combed his fingers through his hair and straightened his suit. Then he looked anxiously at Reborn. "How do I look?" The other man waved a hand dismissively.

"Fine, just fine. Hurry up, you've got a busy schedule today."

_How does he even know my schedule?_ The brunette wondered, mystified as always by his former tutor's amazing knowledge of the intimate comings and goings of the hunters in this organisation, including his own. He hurried to catch up to the other's shrinking form, falling into step beside him.

"I've taken the liberty of compiling all the damage reports into one file," Reborn told him, handing him a manila folder appropriately labelled, 'DAMAGES'. "Your explosives expert has partially destroyed one of the research labs again in his zeal."

Tsuna peeked at the figures and almost fainted then and there. Shaking himself, he tucked the folder under one arm and inquired, "What mixture did he use this time?"

"Too much gunpowder."

"...Ah."

They passed one of the trainers headed in the opposite direction who raised a hand in greeting as he walked by. The salutation was returned, smiles exchanged and no more words were said until they reached the weapons testing lab.

The doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a wide room that looked down upon an even more expansive space crowded with the tall silhouettes of buildings. It was a convincing replica of the city outside, complete with shop displays, stunted trees and parked cars lining the kerb. Dark models of human figures frozen in action dotted the pavement, difficult to differentiate from the shadows. The only human to be found was the one bent over the console in the observation room which they were standing in, dressed sloppily and casually in slacks and a T-shirt that was only partially tucked in. Shouichi Irie - one of the smartest minds the Association possessed - a youth particularly proficient in tactics and computer science. His shock of red hair (so prominent amongst the dark-haired Japanese here) was his most memorable feature, closely followed by his nervous habit of pushing up his squarish-glasses. He turned as Tsuna and Reborn entered, jumped, and had to push up those selfsame glasses as they slid down his nose.

"Thank you for coming down, Sawada. And, um, Mr Reborn as well. I wasn't expecting you until-- well, nevermind. You're here, so..." He turned quickly back to the console and his fingers flew over the keys with a series of computerised beeps. "Spanner," he called, pressing the commlink looped behind the shell of his ear with a short mouthpiece extending downwards. "Are you done with the adjustments?"

Another male's voice answered, a little muffled. "Mm. Is he here already?"

"Yeah." Shouichi glanced at his guests and tapped a few more keys. A soft ping announced the arrival of the elevator to their left, and the doors parted to let another mechanic into the room. This one wore soft, green overalls and had some sort of short, white stick poking out from his mouth. His close-cut blonde hair was swept to one side and parted like a wave, which - with his baby-blue eyes - gave him the appearance of a doll.

"Here," the blonde mechanic said. He was holding out a dark leather pouch, the mouth of which had been pulled shut with cord.

"Um, thanks." Tsuna took it and gave it a confused look. He could feel that there were a lot of small somethings rolling about inside. "What's inside?"

"Mini-explosives," Shouichi answered, causing Tsuna to almost drop the bag and Reborn to arch an eyebrow. As his back was to them, he didn't see their reactions. "Throw one of them at something and it will burst into flames upon impact."

"You can test them out down below," said the mechanic, already moseying back towards the elevator. Tsuna and Reborn hastened after him, occupying the space beside him and waiting in silence for the elevator to announce with another _ping_ that they had arrived. One look and already Tsuna was intimidated by the black, lifelike silhouettes that rose from the mock streets. Reborn had to give him a shove to push him out, causing the brunette to squeak.

"Wait wait wait," he said, holding the leather pouch gingerly between thumb and forefinger. "I just have to _throw_ these things?"

"Mm... Yeah." The mechanic wandered off without offering further explanation, leaving Tsuna to turn helplessly to his former tutor. The man shrugged and plucked the bag from the younger man's fingers, opening it up and bringing forth a little, bright red capsule that looked suspiciously like a pill. Reborn studied it for a time then launched it casually into the air where it flew in a graceful arc towards the intersection some metres away. There was a flash of orange, a tendril of smoke, but nothing spectacular.

Tsuna stared incredulously at where the last wisps of grey were dissipating into the air. "Was that it?"

Reborn tossed another capsule at one of the trees. The reaction this time was much more impressive - a tongue of flame licked up the bark and soon the entire thing was a pillar of fire. The smoke set off an alarm which had several men rushing forward with a hose to douse the tree. Smirking, Reborn touched the brim of his fedora in acknowledgement of the men's fast work then glanced towards Tsuna, who had gone pale.

"Be sure not to crush them," he told the brunette, tossing the bag back. It was caught reflexively, the young hunter remaining frozen with shock even as the older man took his leave.

As the elevator doors slid shut behind him, a multitude of thoughts were tumbling through the young leader's head: the loudest of which was that this weapon would be a dangerous weapon in the hands of their hunters. Fire could consume a vampire in minutes, and in his mind's eye he envisioned the chaos which could quickly unravel all their diplomatic work should a few of these tossed about carelessly.

The line of his mouth firmed. He couldn't let his subordinates have access to these things. He could not trust them to know when not to use them. Many of them were rash and quick to judge and might use these without a second thought. He took the elevator back up to the observation room where Shouichi was peering down, watching from above to make sure the fire didn't spread.

"Don't make any more of these, do you understand?" Tsuna barked, his voice startling the red-head into jumping a foot in the air. "If you've made any more, I want you to send them to me and _only_ me." The other man saw the fierceness in the brunette's eyes and nodded vigorously.

Satisfied, Tsuna exited the room holding the pouch close to his chest as he strode back to his office. He would hide these things in his safe room - a place only he could access and was virtually inaccessible by any means. Only when he had secreted the pouch within its confines and the several-inch thick steel door swung shut did he feel able to relax. He threw down the folder labelled 'DAMAGES' and sat at his desk to peruse the documents inside.

In as little as half an hour, the pouch with its flash fire capsules was all but forgotten.

oOo

The last sliver of amber light slid beneath the horizon, granting darkness to a world governed by the day. Birds ceased their chatter, the rumbling of passing cars headed for home soon died down and lights flicked on in homes, muted by curtains drawn across windows. Ironic that what dispelled darkness also gave it its most potent form: with light, one could see more clearly their immediate surroundings; yet without it, one could see further than what that very light revealed. Humans were dependent on what they perceived as a banisher of nightly terrors and now failed to notice what went on right before their noses.

Where once the stars had been multitudinous and plenty, artificial light rendered them as scattered specks on a midnight canvas. They could no longer be seen except by the help of an artificial eye of glass. The astronomers of old had marvelled and postulated over the wonders of the universe and tracked changes in the sky with their own eyes while the Earth turned. No more. Humans focused not on how the extraordinary could enrich their lives: they focused on how to keep their very ordinary lives from being enriched with knowledge and experience.

It was, the elegant dark-haired creature thought with a distasteful pursing of his lips, disgraceful. The human race had sunk to such a low over the centuries. It was almost enough for him to reject their tasteless blood.

An owl glided in on silent wings to alight on the branch beside him. Its tawny feathers were dyed with the ink of nightfall; a small rat was held in its beak.

"How goes the hunt, brother?" he murmured softly, eyes not once leaving the shadowed house he held in his sights.

The owl cocked its head, eyed him with one of its round, yellow eyes. It ignored him in favour of swallowing its meal whole, tossing its head back and jerking it oddly until the rodent slid down its throat.

He laughed soundlessly as the pompous bird shook out its feathers and eyed him again. How daring these animals could be. He knelt and stretched out a hand towards it but it flew off with a screech before he could pet it. Its wings buffeted him, clipping him on the cheek in passing. Not at all fazed, he simply smiled and silently bid the bird a good night's hunting. It was more than he could wish for himself.

The house beneath him remained starkly quiet. There were no lights on but that was hardly a problem to his superior night vision. In even the littlest hint of moonshine he could view his surroundings with unexpected clarity. Tonight was not a full moon, but even he could see that no-one was home. He had been watching this place for several weeks and knew the resident's schedule off by heart, which was why he continued to wait...

And wait...

And wait.

Time lost its meaning to someone of his kind. After you had lived long enough, the days blended into weeks and the weeks blended into months, and then those months became years which often passed without their realising. Only the flow of civilisation changing and crumbling could mark the passage of their lives because nothing else would. Their cells did not - could not - break down as they were in a constant state of repair. The blood in their bodies was dark and held none of the vibrancy of a human's. They were not animated by the same means as the living. They needed no breath to fuel the lumps of muscle in their skulls called brains. They were dead.

He perceived a lone figure walking quietly down the sidewalk pausing at the gate of the house over which he had kept vigil for hours. He leaned forward, eyes gleaming, as they pushed it open and headed for what must surely be their home.

A dry rustle distracted him. His gaze pulled sharply away from the one down below to fix on the one who had been so presumptuous as to land so close beside him. They cringed.

"Forgive me. I was sent by the Elders to retrieve you. They request your presence at council immediately."

His cold eyes rested on the cowering lesser vampire for five long seconds before his lips finally curved into a smile.

"Very well." Like a man patting his dog his pale hand reached towards the mop of floppy blonde hair and stroked the moonlit locks. "What is your name?" he crooned.

"G-Gior, sire."

He paused. He had thought the youth a girl upon first glance. He saw now that wasn't so. Smiling more widely, he tilted the boy's chin up so their frightened eyes could meet his.

"Gior," he purred. "You cannot be older than seventeen. Someone is treading very close to the minimum age limit. Who was it that turned you, hmm...?" He was close, far too close, breathing in the scent of the boy's skin while the youth swallowed and tried not to give in to the intimidating aura rolling off of this powerful vampire.

"I...I cannot say," Gior said. "I was turned when I was t-twenty-three, sire. I only look young--" He squeaked when the older vampire growled to shut him up.

"Listen to me carefully, young Gior: if I ever see you eyeing my prey, if I even hear you take a step towards someone marked as mine, you will be dead before the next moon rises." They locked eyes again. The boy gasped. Who could blame him when expecting to see two glowing red eyes he saw instead only one, the other of which was an icy blue?

"Away!" he commanded. The boy did not need telling twice. He flitted away, using his incredible speed to take him far from the older vampire and the hunting ground he had claimed. Left alone once again, the older one turned back one last time to gaze at the suburban dwelling which he could not seem to keep his attention from. He seemed intent on the light at the second floor window, tracking the shadow shifting behind the paper screen erected in front of the pane.

There could be no delaying the council, however, and in short time his form began to fade like a wraith's. Soon there was no man to be seen, standing tall, silhouetted against a backdrop of stars. There was only a puff of wind which rustled the leaves of the tree where he had been perched. Then it, too, died away, and the night was still once more.

When he materialised it was deep within the recesses of a mountain, in cold, dark halls carved from the rock and warmed by the roiling lava that pooled thousands of kilometres beneath their feet. The last time Mt Fuji had erupted was in the early 1700s, and shortly thereafter when the rock had cooled and winter returned to cap its peak with a dusting of snow, vampires had dug a den into one of its more perilous sides. The demons of Pandemonium who had worked with them to build their secret fortress fed off of its raw heat and power, so there was little chance of an eruption occurring so long as they and their brethren occupied the volcano.

In these pitch black corridors sight was a sense rendered useless. Instead, vampires relied upon their hearing, instincts and memory in order to navigate the vast network that snaked through the volcanic rock. Should humans ever find their abode it would be an easy matter to defend it, for humans with their inferior eyesight and weak senses would never be able to penetrate the abyss as quickly and easily as a vampire.

He made his way down and down towards the central chamber where council was held, trailing fingers along uneven cuts in the rock; already there were a few hundred night denizens skulking about the edges of the room, whispering quietly to each other or listening to the chatter around them. At his entrance there was a general hush as all the minds around him slunk towards his to identify him. One touch and they recoiled, retreating back to their owners.

As he approached the dais he knew had been hewn in the centre of the chamber, the chatter almost ceased completely. Anticipation replaced the audible fluttering of lips and he could feel the Elders turn towards him, emanating a power that washed over him like a wave and sought to bend his will to their whim. Theirs was a power he craved, as did all who were close enough to experience it. He went down on one knee upon reaching the dais, bowing his head respectfully to a half-circle of faces he could not see.

"Elder," he said deferentially, addressing one and all.

"I and the night welcome you...brother." The pause was tiny yet deliberate, there for those with the ears to hear. His fangs almost showed themselves at the implication but he pressed his lips together and murmured the appropriate response. Then he stood smoothly and backed away to merge with the rest of the congregation, painfully aware of the small bubble of space that formed around him as he did so.

Now freed of the need to adhere to vampire courtesy, he bared his teeth at the obsidian floor, hating the lot of them for their prejudice and their disgust. As if he could have chosen to be the spawn of an incubus and a human! The latter part of him had been afflicted by the change - a miracle he attributed to the determination of his sire. Though his abilities and his strength easily rivalled others' there had been no arms open to receive him from his half-brothers or half-sisters, and the Elders only barely tolerated his presence. They were polite, of course, the way one is polite to a mortal enemy feasting at the same table as other guests.

A few more of his half-brethren flitted in to swell their numbers, all paying the same courtesies he had moments before, all receiving the same welcome without the calculated pause. All told there had to have been no less than two thousand occupying the volcanic hall's steep tiers. It was a small number when one considered the number of human beings living in Japan.

With the most of the population of the country's vampires present, the Elders made known their wish for quiet and all those gathered obediently hushed.

"No doubt you are all aware the humans' desire for peace between our kinds," began the one with a deep, throaty baritone which resonated strongly in the deep space - Ooyama Tsugio. "I understand the Gifu coven came to an agreement with their speaker." The implied question brought one of the coven forward, their leader, who kept her head bowed as she spoke.

"We could find no fault with their terms, Elder."

Another woman's voice cut in, husky yet sharp. "Did you consult one of us before making your decision, sister?" Yurushi Miyano - known for her quick temper and forceful opinions. She was stubborn when it came to protocol and politics, but not foolish enough to let that interfere with urgency.

"Yes, Elder," said the Gifu's leader placidly. "Elder Shinichi gave his approval."

He could feel the other Elders' attention turn towards where the mentioned Elder must be seated. His calm voice floated above the muted buzzing from the upper tiers. "And I informed Tsugio as is the practice, Miyano. Had I time before the coming together of this council, I would have notified you, Shinju and Takuma as well."

Elder Yurushi, he could feel, was somewhat placated by this and settled back. From the minds nearest him, he surmised Elder Shinichi had arrived somewhat later than his fellow council members. The Gifu woman was allowed to step back and Elder Ooyama raised his voice again.

"What of the Nara coven? I see they are not among us tonight."

There was some murmuring but none who ventured a response to the Elder's query. The one Elder Shinichi had referred to as 'Shinju' spoke up.

"They are embroiled in some small conflict which should be soon resolved, Tsugio," she said in her high, fluty voice. "The humans sent their envoy to them also, and they are divided on the matter."

The swell of muttering rose subtly in volume. In the beginning the Elders had waved off the advances as nothing more than the actions of frightened humans seeking to protect their own existence and had allowed a shaky compromise to be reached. Conflicts had lessened and an uneasy peace had developed in the time since the first covens had accepted. But Nara was made up of some of those small communities where neighbours knew each other by name and farmed the land for their livelihoods. In such places vampires subjugated the humans and demanded the occasional sacrifice in exchange for protection and a guarantee that they would not hunt within the village. It would be difficult to force change to a centuries' old habit.

Elder Ooyama's voice smothered the buzz of talk with his ponderous words. "I had hoped to have at least a representative from their coven present. No matter."

"With the Gifu this places almost the entire Chubu region in the humans' control. They have already won the Kanto region; are they planning on making peace with the whole of Japan...?" Shinju's soft voice mused.

"Their organisation cannot possibly cope with the numbers they have," opined Elder Yurushi. "The centre of their operations is within Tokyo. Even with these new trains it takes hours to travel to the north or south."

"Are we certain of their numbers, Miyano?" Again it was Shinju who spoke. "Contact between us and them has thus far extended only to the brothers and sisters they kill. And do not forget the dhampirs, most of whom have joined the cause to eradicate the ones whose seed brought them into the world."

Yurushi sniffed. "If we were to call all our brothers and sisters together they could not hope to best us."

"Even with the silver the humans possess, Miyano?" objected Shinju. "The hate from our half-brothers and half-sisters?"

At this point all audible talk ceased between the five and they appeared to descend into an internal argument, each of their minds communicating with the others in a flurry with ideas conceived, considered then rejected in quick cycle. The waiting vampires broke off once more into ragged groups and murmured to one another and filled the hall with a comfortable level of chatter. The half-demon was left alone as expected, and it was one of the few times he did not mind it. Much could be gleaned through listening to idle gossip when one was ignored. Usually he would skip these meetings, as the politics of the vampire world scarcely applied to him and he preferred to keep out of public eye, but personal summons were not to be ignored.

A beckoning tugged at his mind which he obeyed without a second thought, stepping forward with eyes fixed demurely towards the floor. Here it was: the reason for his being called to council.

"Rokudou Mukuro" - he hated the use of his full name in front of so many; it made him feel exposed - "we would speak to you in private."

Whichever Elder had ordered him attend this council must have been aware of their ultimate decision in advance. He rose fluidly to his feet and sedately followed four of the Elders who were retreating into a chamber to the right side of the dias. Elder Ooyama remained behind to dismiss the rest of their brethren before joining them in the lightless room, where the thick obsidian door boomed shut behind him.

"Light," Ooyama commanded, and light there was. Thick veins of orange, meant to mimic the glow of the lava flowing beneath the crust of the earth, wound through the stone of the chamber, which was fashioned in the shape of a dome and furnished with several zabutons - five for the Elders; the remaining two or three for whoever they should have called to attend them. In the glow, he could discern the more prominent of their features, made striking by the uniformity of the luminance.

Ooyama Tsugio did not have the square-jawed or stocky face that his voice and demeanour might have led one to believe he had. His chin was strong, yes, but his face more closely resembled an oval with a pert nose and thick lips. It was hard to tell in the dimness, but Mukuro knew that the shirt the Elder wore hid a fine set of rippling muscles. Ooyama's strength was famous amongst the Japanese vampires.

In contrast Yurushi Miyano was a severe woman with her hair bound tightly in the traditional way: in a bun with two hair sticks carefully slid through. She was always pressing her lips together as if she disapproved of everything her gaze alighted upon, and the straight, stiff way she held herself did not help matters.

Shinichi Yuu on the other hand looked as kind as he sounded, with gentle eyes and a gentle smile. In contrast to Ooyama's bulk, Shinichi looked so thin that a small push might topple him over. He was one of the shortest of the group and almost as youthful-looking as the girl beside him.

That girl was the one they called Shinju: Kagamisato Shinju, who at the moment wore the tiniest of frowns in her preoccupation. Her hair was long and thick and as black as it had been the day she had been turned, and her eyes were bright and clear and glimmered warmly in whatever light shone on them. As the youngest in appearance of the Elders, she possessed a naiveté that was quickly disappearing the longer she held her title. Kagamisato was in actual fact reaching well on three hundred years in age and was the oldest vampire present besides himself.

The final Elder was Nosohara Takuma. Outwardly he appeared the eldest of the five, but at a sprightly age of 159, Nosohara was the second-youngest. Mukuro often amused himself imagining he was tugging at the old man's drooping moustache or waxing smooth their bald head. There was a smile now, hovering upon his lips, when a gentle cough recalled him to the present. He affixed a chastened look upon his face and bowed apologetically to Ooyama, keeping his eyes lowered respectfully. From the Elder's amused look, he had an inkling of Mukuro's imaginings.

They were all of them clothed in loose-fitting yukatas that would not look out of place in a Japan welcoming the long, warm fingers of summer, the season which brought with it festivals and fireworks. A season where even vampires found it hard not to enjoy themselves when night fell, the lanterns were brought out and everyone dressed themselves in beautifully patterned cloth of cotton. Mukuro could not see what decorated the yukatas of the Elders but he was sure they were stunning enough to draw the eyes away from their wearers' unearthly palour.

"Brother," began Ooyama, "I will be frank: were there anyone else we could send they would currently be in your place. We require someone who may pass for a human halfling. While you possess no trace of human blood within, you are a half-blood still and that will serve our purposes well enough."

Mukuro held his tongue. _Weaker, younger, inferior._ He made the words into a mantra and recited it in his head until he could almost believe they applied to him.

"You will travel south, as we have said. There, you will make contact with the humans' representative and persuade him to allow you to join their - 'association', was it? You will assume the guise of a human halfling, assimilate into their society and send word to us regarding the validity of their desire for peace. We would emphasise upon the subtle nature of this request, Mukuro Rokudou." Ooyama touched his mind and conveyed more details through two seconds of thought than words could express in a minute.

"...I understand." Did he have a choice? "I will depart as soon as I am able."

"Go with the night's blessing. And ours." They each bowed deeply, Mukuro to the Elders and the Elders to he, then Ooyama commanded, "Light!", again and the molten veins dimmed to leave them once more in utter darkness. The door ground open, allowing the five to glide out with Mukuro trailing after. There was a rush of wind that whipped up his hair, some unearthly screech, then he knew that he was alone.

...No, not entirely alone.

"They hope you will die." That warm voice belonged, of course, to Shinichi. The other, younger vampire stepped close so that Mukuro could touch his yukata should he reach out his hand to.

"Tell me something I do not know." He turned his face towards the voice, imagining that he could see their youthful features arranged in pity.

"It isn't fair," they said quietly.

"The world rarely is. Surely you've lived long enough by now to know that." Mukuro laughed softly and began to ascend the hand-carved steps towards the mouth of the cave of winding passages. He heard the young Elder following him.

"Why did you not force them to make you an Elder? You have more right to the position than any of us."

'Us' not 'them', the older vampire noted. He shook his head. This was an age-old discussion they frequently had. "Demons and vampires are natural enemies. I may be twice the age of some but I am half as trustworthy due to my blood. And blood is everything to the vampires." They reached the end of the tunnels, where the opening was left exposed to the elements and commanded a breath-taking view of the lake and surrounding environs at Mt Fuji's base. Mukuro stood on the precipice of the sheer drop to the slopes below, letting the wind carve into his indigo hair. Shinichi came to stand beside him, gazing down at the forest.

"Besides," Mukuro continued with a sigh, "I do not want to rule over a divided race."

There was no response from the young Elder. They stood for a time while the chill strove to affect their heat-less bodies.

"...Be careful," Shinichi eventually said, words almost lost to the howl of the gale swirling around them.

Mukuro nodded. His body become incorporeal, solidifying into a large snowy owl that flapped away strongly from the cave. Behind him, the young Elder took the form of a bat and both were soon specks on the navy blue and emerald green of their respective backdrops.

oOo

Every night, Hibari would outfit himself in his usual gear - supple, black leather boots laced up tightly, a close-fitting black cotton shirt with similarly dyed slacks, and a thin jacket to conceal the gun at his hip. Then he would leave by the front door of his house after ensuring all windows and such had been locked securely. If it was cold, he wore an extra shirt on top. If there was rain or a storm, he would venture out as is, heedless of the chill or the torrential downpour that would plaster his hair to his skull, soak through his attire and give any lesser man a fever to last through the next few days.

Tonight's sky was clear of clouds with a smattering of stars and a sliver of a crescent of a moon peaking just above the roofs. It was a good night because inky shadows draped themselves across every surface and there were no patches of moonlight to cast them an even deeper black. Dressed the way he was, Hibari became but one of these formless figures as he tread silently down the footpath towards the gate.

There was a meow, a rustle, a flash of white fur - that cat was loitering on his property again. He waited to see if it would show itself but the shadows remained as they were. He quietly unlatched the gate and stepped past, closing it carefully behind him.

There was very little wind but it carried upon it the burnt smell of freshly-laid tarmac. Hibari recalled that the street two blocks away had been undergoing repairs and he attributed the stench to that whilst also making a note of it - perhaps if he lured vampires towards there, their noses would be confused by the strong smell. Enough that he could use his gun to put a bullet in their heart.

Crossing the street, he followed the path towards the park. Sawada had told him of the coven moving south towards them but it didn't mean much when vampires could cover distances with one leap what would take a human several seconds to sprint. Instead, he positioned himself in the area which he thought they must pass through on their journey. Either they would see him or he would see them. Unless the fiends were taking the precaution of travelling by animal form.

Hibari sat for a time on one of the benches in the public recreational zone, stretching out along its length and interlacing his fingers behind his head so he could nap. Stark pools of white illuminated stretches of the stone-paved path which wound through the trees, including the very bench he had decided to rest on. A few couples treaded past though none took notice of the strange youth all in black, apparently asleep.

He waited. After an hour, he felt rather than heard the presence of another being standing over him, casting its shadow across his face. He opened his eyes and beheld ones of tawny brown gazing down at him, crinkled at the edges from their owner's smile.

"Hello, Kyouya," they said, their voice mellow with warmth and a familiarity Hibari felt was unwarranted. He pushed himself up, forcing the other to take a step back, and swung his legs off the bench so they rested on the ground as was proper.

"I told you not to call me that," Hibari said sharply, slate-grey eyes narrowed at the man (or youth, for they looked quite young) who simply swept a hand through his wild, deep golden hair and continued to smile easily. What was his name again? Lino? Whino? Something like that.

"Why not? It's your name." Lino or Whino offered to give him a hand up but Hibari smacked it away and stood, smothering a yawn.

"You have not earned to right to address me so familiarly," was the response thrown over one shoulder as the hunter began to walk away. The youth fell into step a little behind and beside him.

"It's been a month already, just let it go," they said in turn, laughing. It was rich laughter, as warm and friendly as their voice was. All the same, it was rebuffed by the coldness that wrapped Hibari like a shroud.

"No." The hunter quickened his steps and lost the youth amongst the trees. He could hear them calling out his name but he went further and further until he stepped out of the trees and on to the bank of a large pond that was usually home to ducks or the occasional frog. There was no wildlife to be seen now - instead there was a woman, and one male crouched by her feet, hunched over something on the grass, somewhat obscured by the rushes that grew next to the water. Since he had not made any attempt to walk stealthily, they both turned as one and seemed as surprised as he did upon sighting them.

"Shit, a witness," the woman swore. Hibari couldn't make out many details about the pair as the only lights here were the tiny lamps installed beneath the gently rippling water. He could vaguely see the cut of her hair though, as well as the odd, knobbly shape of the male's head as if he were wearing some sort of hat. That was all he had time to take in as he drew his gun and fired two shots in quick succession. Two silver bullets whizzed through the air; one struck the male squarely in the throat, the other went through the female's upper arm as she moved to avoid his shot. The male toppled sideways and fell with a splash into the water, choking, while the female rushed Hibari with an ear-splitting shriek.

The raven-haired hunter did not want to be without a weapon in hand when the fight turned into close-quarter combat, so he dropped the gun and drew out his pair of tonfa in time to meet the female's long, sharp nails. They met with a screech and she drew back with a hiss. Her movements were a blur, resembling an enraged cat as she darted back and lunged forward in quick succession while circling to try and find her opponent's unprotected back. Undaunted, Hibari used his tonfa to block each strike, though the sound of her nails meeting the metal grated on his ears. Predicting her next leap back, he leaped forward and caught her in the gut while she was unprepared, sending her tumbling down towards the bank. She arrested her momentum by digging her fingers into the earth and faced Hibari crouched on all fours, glowing crimson eyes distracting the gaze from the supple, highlighted line of her bared legs.

If he had had any doubts before, there were none now: she, and doubtless the male he had struck down as well, was a vampire.

Hibari was fully prepared for the woman to attack again and he charged forward with the expectation of meeting her head-on. To his astonishment, she turned and ran for the pond, for her fallen comrade. Scooping him easily into her arms, she fled the scene using her inhuman speed, leaving nothing but the wake of her passing and a corpse amongst the rushes.

He growled in frustration and sheathed his tonfa more forcefully than was his habit. After a brief inspection of the poor soul who had been the vampires' victim to deem them well and truly dead, he strode over to fetch the gun from where he had discarded it. He holstered his gun and straightened his jacket so that it was hidden from sight. Then he made a quick call to Sawada to organise a team to clear away the body.

Twenty-seven minutes later he spied a familiar pair headed for his position. He straightened and gave them a civil nod once they came into clearer sight.

"Sorry we're late! We had to lose one of Lambo's heartbroken sweethearts." The girl (there was one female and one male) laughed not in an unkindly manner and elbowed her partner. The sleepy-eyed male didn't look particularly sorry or even embarrassed. In fact it didn't look as if he cared at all, like meeting enraged ex-girlfriends was a normal part of life.

"Just clean up the body," Hibari said, and left them to it.

Where to start? The she-vampire would have almost certainly gone into hiding now to recover from her wounds so there would be little point trying to track her. The only thing to do was to resume his patrol, and with this decided he set off while keeping an eye on the patches of abyssal blackness for sign of movement.

The night was still in its early stages, the crescent moon visible well above the trees. Hibari followed it east, keeping to the paths when he stepped out of the bounds of the park. It was so quiet he could hear the cicadas, not quite buzzing and not quite chirping, pulsing in his ears. He dried the light sheen of sweat that had formed on his temple with the sleeve of his shirt, cursing the humidity.

Hours passed. He began to drift south and west, taking a longer route that would eventually take him back home while covering most of this south-eastern quadrant of the town. If there were vampires about, he never saw them or sensed them. It seemed like Sawada's truce was being taken to heart here. Unhappy as Hibari was with fewer opportunities to send the blood drinkers to their final rest, the tranquillity of the nights somewhat made up for it.

He was passing beneath a street lamp when he detected movement out of the corner of his eye. He whirled, drawing his gun in one fluid gesture, pointing the barrel at where he thought he'd seen it.

Nothing.

Disappointed, he began to lower his gun, but then flapping of rapidly moving cloth had him spinning around to point the muzzle up, somewhere above the streetlamp across the street. His eyes were attracted to what was at the base though: a mature-aged woman with her shirt half-torn off one shoulder to expose her neck, which in the stark lighting clearly had upon it the glistening evidence of a fresh bite.

"The humans here do not seem to fear attack at all," a voice remarked from directly above. Hibari's head swivelled upwards only to have his eyes dazzled by the glare of the lamp on his side of the street. The most he could make out was the corner of the tail end of the vampire's coat hanging over the edge of the curved pole. The vampire continued with a wondering, "Why is that?"

Hibari fired a shot at where he estimated the head to be. Instead of the shriek or squeal or scream he expected, there was only the soft tinkle as a pale hand descended into visibility and opened to let the silver bullet that it had caught fall. The hunter stared at it for several long seconds, disbelief etched into the miniscule widening of his eyes and stillness of his frame.

The vampire went on as if nothing had just occurred. "I take a sojourn for a few years, return, and it is as if the world has completely changed in my absence."

"You leech," Hibari spat at him, interrupting their ruminations. "Are you going to talk or fight?"

"Fight?" The vampire sounded surprised. "Fight something as weak as you? Oh, no, it would be slaughter, not a fight."

Hibari fired several more rounds, each shot echoing loudly in the deserted streets. None of them found their mark, but the creature's cold, pale hands found his neck, squeezing and choking from behind. The hunter kicked back and found a shin yet either his effort was pitiful or the vampire felt none of the pain. His mouth gaped and little sounds like whimpers worked their way past his throat. The gun fell from his hand with a clatter and he tugged and pulled uselessly at the unrelenting fingers which were slowly crushing his throat.

"See?" the monster breathed into his ear like a whiff of sickly-sweet perfume. "Weak."

Splotches of darkness began to encroach upon his vision. Hibari thought it might be the end of him until those cold hands unexpectedly released him. He fell heavily to the ground, sucking in air to fill his starved lungs, coughing when he inhaled too quickly. By the time he found the strength to raise himself up, his mysterious assailant was nowhere to be seen.

Growling, Hibari spat out the taste of the concrete and used the nearby railing to pull himself to his feet. With each breath he rasped like the walking dead and each step he took was much like their stumbling and shuffling. A wave of dizziness upturned the world when he bent down to collect his gun and he almost collapsed again then and there. Locking his knees, he drew himself up and replaced his gun in the holster at his belt.

He shook, still. Tiny tremors shook his body, barely perceptible to the naked eye. Yet it was not weakness of limb which caused it - it was anger. Anger at the vampire who'd toyed with him; anger at the vampire who could have killed him yet left him alive with a wounded pride. So much anger it was bursting to escape his meagre human frame and unleash itself upon the city.

Hibari snarled and reined it in, eyes squeezed shut. At least, he tried to. Flashes of fire and smoke and death, their scent and the sight of them notched his fury up another peg to the point where he clutched his head and screamed it out to the faceless night. He felt the hands of the dying grasped at his sleeves, his jacket, pulling and tugging while their gaping mouths garbled meaningless words. He covered his ears but still their ceaseless mumblings tumbled into his head until the only thoughts which remained were not his own but that of hundreds upon hundreds of the dead who were dragging him to the ground to lie with them in the sweet earth.

Then something heavy hit him on the back of his head and he toppled forward towards the waiting arms of the dead, consciousness fading even as he felt their hands reaching out to catch him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Remo yet again for her help and support. And for beta-ing a lot of my fics. ♥

Mukuro had just zipped the mouth of his travel bag closed when he heard a tapping at his window. That was unusual in and of itself, yet he also happened to live on the sixth floor with a sizeable distance between the block here and the one adjacent. A gap that wasn't humanly possible to cross. He trod cautiously towards the window and twisted the catch, sliding the pane aside to admit a very odd pair.

Humans, one might think. But one of these 'humans' had just scaled the wall of a six-storey high building with the other on her back.

He clicked his tongue at the pitiful sight they made sprawled over his carpet - quite a nice carpet too. There was a dark stain spreading across it now and it was most certainly ruined. He would have to arrange to have it replaced.

"What sort of trouble have you two landed yourselves in this time?" he asked as he knelt by the one who was senseless: a bloody hole featured where his throat should have been. His fingers touched upon the gaping wound and recoiled as if burned. "A silver bullet?"

The second one nodded, breathless from having carried her companion and weakened by her own injury. "He came upon us so suddenly and so quietly, I--" Mukuro help up his hand and she silenced herself.

"Hurry and bring a clean towel and some hot water." The female flitted away and not a second later the sound of the kitchen tap could be heard gushing. Ignoring the impatient tapping of her feet, Mukuro delicately parted the flesh which refused to close around the vamipre's throat, while tendrils of smoke curled around his fingertips. Ah, yes, he could see a glimmer of silver where the bullet had lodged itself. It was buried deep though. He would need some sort of implement to extract it.

He stood and glided to the bathroom and opened the closet beneath the sink where he kept such a kit for times like these. A basic human medical kit with a few additions. He carried the entire thing back to the other room and kneeled beside the prone body. The female returned carrying a small pot filled with gently steaming water and a thick, fluffy towel which she set the former down on. Mukuro held a pair of tweezers from his kit in the hot water for a few seconds then set to work.

It was a slow process. Agonisingly slow for a creature that could move so quickly the human eye could not catch them. Yet the long years had tempered whatever haste he may have once had so he worked steadily and carefully, mindful of the pain his patient must be feeling even if they could not currently express it. Not even the woman's anxiousness infected his hand.

A grisly squelch eventually announced the bullet's departure from its vampire host. Mukuro held it aloft for a moment, let it shine red and silver before tossing it into the pot where the blood coating it lifted off in a thin cloud and dispersed into the water. More sluggish liquid came bubbling out of the male's throat but Mukuro let it. The wound had to be cleansed of the silver which had poisoned it before it could heal. The vampire would live...but he could not say for sure whether they would ever speak again.

The woman's tense figure slumped in relief. She hurriedly slid the towel out from underneath the pot and tucked it under her companion's head so it could soak up the excess leakage, though she may as well have left it to his rug. She was about to take away the pot as well but Mukuro reached it before her and waved away her protest. "Watch him," he commanded.

The first thing he did was rinse his hands of the silver-tainted blood. His fingers felt tender and the soothing caress of the cool liquid alleviated the uncomfortable tingling burn. They would take a day or two to recover completely, he estimated. And meanwhile, what to do with the bullet? It was not something he could take in hand and toss into the nearest bin like humans did their litter, nor could he keep it here. This thing was deadly poison to vampires and almost death to a mixed-breed like him.

He drained the water off into the sink first, let the bullet rattle about inside the pot while he gazed at it. While he did, he felt rather than heard the woman approach and slip her arms around his waist from behind.

"I said you didn't have to handle it," she began to say, overlapping the hand gripping the pot handle with her own. "I'll find a gun and shoot the one who shot Chikusa. Whether it's silver or iron, a bullet to the head will kill just the same..."

"If you do it will lead to war," he responded in a low voice, setting the pot down so he could turn his hand over and let their fingers twine. "A war between us and them and those others besides. Vampires cannot hope to win against both humans and demonkind. And," he tugged her around and pinned her to the counter in one smooth movement, resting his fingers lightly on the kitchen bench on either side of her body as he leaned into her, "how could we be together if either of us died?" He was close enough to smell the perfume she wore, close enough to kiss her lips - which he did.

"They fired the first shot." Her sultry voice and the coy way she pouted and batted her eyelashes could have lured any number of mortal men. For his part he was largely unaffected, but he knew how to play her game and lifted her on to the countertop. He left his hands resting lightly on her hips. Tonight she had worn a slender scarlet dress that Mukuro could not imagine running in, with a thigh-slit up one side that almost went _too_ high. If he were human he might have made an effort to resist the temptation.

"Are we not more civilised?" he asked her in turn, using his tongue to lave the inside of her neck. His hand was sliding along the bare skin her dress exposed while her hands took care of his shirt. Instead of replying, she smiled down at him as she hooked the leg he was fondling around his hip.

There was enough tainted blood in him that her physical proximity aroused him. If she objected to his rough handling as he hoisted her up and bore her to the couch in the living area she made no protest. Instead she gripped his hips all the more tightly as he carried her, beckoned him as he climbed above her, and smirked as he hiked up her dress so that more than a mere thigh was bared. The only complaint was when he practically ripped the dress down the middle and tore it from her body, but that was fine since she was doing the same to his clothes with her nails. Their naked bodies met and tangled together, him pressing between her thighs, warm with the foreign blood that pulsed through his veins and brought sinful lust upon him. She in contrast was cold but no less desirous, as he found when he slid between her legs to the sound of her gratified moan.

"My sweet little Madeline," he would murmur later as they lay together post-coition. She uttered something unintelligible in response to his words without opening her eyes, shifted her position against his chest slightly then promptly went back to sleep on his arm.

He smiled at that. Then he shifted his gaze towards the slouched shadow in the corner of the room. "I'm sorry. Did we disturb your rest, Chikusa?"

The shadow straighted a little and came forward. The ugly wound at their throat (he could see the muscles twitching as Chikusa moved his head) pulled the eyes away and kept them focused there in a rather sickening yet mesmerising way. Mukuro spared it no more than a glance though, keeping his focus and his smile directed at the other vampire's visage. There was blood on their shirt still, the sharp odour so different to the gentler scent of a human's.

"You won't be able to feed in that state," he clucked in a chiding, motherly way. "And I won't be able to monitor your recovery either. I'm needed elsewhere." Chikusa, unable to speak yet, looked at him quizzically. Well, as quizzically as someone with expressionless eyes could look. Mukuro was adept at reading the other's silences and it helped that he was their sire. It forged a link of sorts between them.

"The Elders," he offered by way of explanation to Chikusa. The other nodded ponderously in understanding, treating Mukuro to the sight of neck muscle stretching and contracting. "I'll leave Madeline instructions as to what course of action to take during my absence. You may stay here until I return." Mukuro carefully extracted himself from the female's arms without waking her and rose, stretching his five and a half foot naked frame. There was no reaction from Chikusa, not even a blink at the display. He simply handed over the articles of clothing that he had pre-emptively gathered from the floor.

Once he was dressed, Mukuro returned to the kitchen and considered once more his options regarding the little silver bullet. It still sat there, in the pan in the sink, throwing off its eerie sheen. Using a hand towel, he picked it up and rolled it between thumb and forefinger while he fought the revulsion that rose in him from the proximity of the metal to his skin. Its purity was anathema to the undead and the unholy, but it could not kill immediately if removed in time: only weaken, or infect the body like a slow rot.

An idea struck him then - he _did_ have a use for this bullet after all. Carrying it to his bedroom he fished around in his chest of old keepsakes until he found an wrinkled leather pouch. Into this pouch he deposited the bullet and pulled the drawstrings tight, then hung the thong around his neck. As he expected, it drained his strength and left him feeling dull and heavy. There was a smirk on his face when he emerged from the room and showed it to Chikusa, who gazed at it blankly.

"The bullet which nearly took your life will assist in my deception," Mukuro told him as he slipped the thong off his head. Chikusa did not seem to comprehend but he accepted his sire's words all the same. Sometimes it was nice to have a little mindless obedience, the older vampire mused.

He fetched his travel bag from where he had left it, hefting it securely on to one shoulder and stowing the pouch within a pocket for until he reached his destination. He gave a cursory wave to Chikusa in farewell, then bracing his foot against the open window's sill, he thrust himself out into the night with arms flung wide.

The warm summer wind caught in the wings of an owl as he fell and he soared high, rising on the remnant currents of heat stored deep within the concrete of the city. His eyes picked out with perfect clarity the movements of humans below him, felt their life pulsing like the lights which glimmered and flickered so attractively to moths. Prey. But he had drunk his fill of blood before setting out and so ignored them, listening to their faint, bleating laughter grow faint as he left civilisation behind.

There was a road beneath him now. It wound its way amongst the trees and eventually led, he knew, to the next town. A human-made structure that was forced to obey the whims of nature was hardly the fastest route to take to his destination however, so eventually the road fell behind him as well until only the moon, the stars, and the creatures of the forest were his companions. And only then did he feel free to let out a fierce screech, one which startled the nocturnal rodents from their nests. One of these he swooped upon for nothing other than the thrill of the downwards hurtle and the feeling of his talons sinking into their soft flesh. He stood above the corpse with a hunter's pride and cried out his victory to the rest of the forest.

He was not acting as an owl should, he knew. But after suffering lifetimes of discrimination and inferior treatment, it was as much pride in his abilities that he could indulge in. For the moment.

oOo

Twist, parry, _cleave_ , sidestep and thrust. Retreat and block, then sweep upwards, cut down, whirl and finish off. Yamamoto settled into a ready stance, one foot slightly before the other and planted surely at a good distance apart for balance.

With a savage cry, the swordsman leapt into action, whipping a blurred trail of metal and cloth around the yard as he struck at the humanoid targets set up for his practice. By the end of it, as he sheathed his long blade with a tiny _snick_ , all of them had been beheaded and their upper torsos separated from the lower half of their bodies.

Yamamoto sat down heavily upon the steps leading down to the yard and wiped the sweat from his face with the towel he had left there. Heaving a long sigh he leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes, trying vainly to pretend that the sun was not baking both him and the dirt before him into dryness. He knew he should go inside and have a long drink of water to hydrate himself but he just couldn't find the will or strength to. Summer did that to a person.

"I wish I was in my dad's shop..." he murmured. No matter the season, his father kept the place at a constant temperature so it was cool throughout summer and comfortably mild throughout winter. Here in this out-of-the-way community the residents relied on fans to bring a little relief to their hard existence. Why the vampires chose here of all places to settle their coven, Yamamoto could not fathom. All the rest had been situated in busy cities where those sent to negotiate with them were at least able to stay in a hotel. There were no hotels of any kind here. Only a series of scattered, single-storey dwellings and a single shelter for the bus which came only twice each day.

When he felt the burn becoming a little more than pleasant, he pushed himself to his feet and plodded back inside the stuffy interior. He needed a shower, then perhaps a nap on the couch. There was little to do during the day since vampires only emerged once the sun had set.

Half an hour later he exited the cramped bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, feeling somewhat refreshed. There was no better sensation than clean, sweet water running a torrent over one's body, washing the dust and grime of the day's toils down the drain. Yamamoto threw himself down on the couch and sighed. Even wearing nothing but the towel it still felt like a sauna and the night would not be any better. Summer nights could be just as humid as summer days in Japan. Maybe he'd ask Tsuna for a job up north next time. Swap with Ryohei or someone else.

Straightaway he scolded himself. That had been a selfish thought. If he went north then someone else would have to come south and bear the sweltering heat. For every person's comfort, there was another who was suffering because of it.

Just like how for a vampire to live, a human being had to die.

He closed his eyes and counted up to ten while he breathed in, counted to ten again as he breathed out. He understood. He understood but that did not make his mind any lighter. They were all of them fighting to eke out an existence on this planet. Vampires were not so different to humans preying upon weaker species. If one wanted to be truly heartless, humans _needed_ something to keep them from proliferating, and weren't vampires ideally suited to that? Yamamoto could see how Tsuna desired the ideal of peace between their kinds. He figured that given the chance, Tsuna would try to unite the world in order to stop conflict altogether. It wasn't that he disagreed with his boss' philosophy. He just couldn't see the point of it.

Smiling humourlessly, the swordsman sent himself off to sleep with his meditation, dreaming of blood and death and screams of the dying, whose ashes were whipped up and scattered by the wind.

When he woke to the knock on his door later that night he was in a much better mood, something which apparently surprised the vampire at his door. They eyed the blue, loose-fitting shirt he had carelessly thrown on (he had accidentally misaligned the buttons in his haste) and the belt to his pants which was only half done up, then coolly returned their gaze to his face. "Father requests your presence. I'm to escort you."

"Sure, just give me a sec." Yamamoto ducked back inside to fetch his sword and straighten his attire. The vampire waited impatiently on his doorstep, unable to enter without express permission. The swordsman came out not long later and shut the door behind him, smiling brightly at the sour creature. "Lead on!"

They did so, clearly expecting the human to keep up with their long, noiseless strides. They had on a loose-sleeve cotton shirt of some dark, unassuming colour, with a matching pair of leggings. Yamamoto was always amused to note that their feet - which were bare - made as much of an impression in the dirt as his own sneakers did. Vampires were subject to the laws of physics just like humans were.

The vampire he was following now might have been trying to pass off as one of the farmers here, but they held themselves too proudly for that. It was the tilt of the chin and arrogant confidence which oozed from their pores. The farmers tended to be hunched, suspicious-eyed, though proud in their own way. He thought he could feel their eyes peering at him from behind ajar front doors and thin curtains, watching him and maybe hating him for intruding into their way of life. After all, if the coven agreed to Tsuna's requests, they would no longer have to sacrifice some of their own every month to satiate their bloodthirsty masters. You'd think that this was a good thing though, wouldn't you?

Yamamoto had learned to the contrary: the men and women were afraid that if the hunters and the vampires could not find common ground, a conflict would ensue that would mean the deaths of almost certainly everyone in their secluded village. Better to mourn the loss of a few than the loss of many.

Tsuna had chosen him because, of all the subordinates he had, Yamamoto had the gift for being the most tacit. He had been glib and carefree during his teenage years, until the attack on his father had wrought this bitter change upon him.

The rest of the coven were waiting for them in a large wheat field, gathered in a space that had already been harvested. None of them had torches since vampires had no need of them, so the swordsman had to squint in order to make out the indistinct forms standing before him. The vampire who had escorted him went to join the shadowy mass, whose cold eyes he could feel gauging his measure. A coven usually meant about a hundred vampires, yet there could not be more than twenty here. Where were the rest?

"I guess one of you must be the father," he chirped to break the tense atmosphere.

A strange rustling rose at his words then subsided. One of the taller figures came forward. "I speak for my kin." Their voice was gruff, perhaps one that belonged to a man in his forties? "We have considered your words, and your proposal. But I would know what sort of man you are, Yamamoto Takeshi, before I give you our decision."

Yamamoto nodded, expecting this. "You want to taste my blood right?"

All around him the vampires laughed, including their 'father'. He frowned at them until their leader waved them into silence, clarifying for him, "No, I want to see your skills with that blade."

His smile sharpened then. "Against you?"

"Against this one." The Father gestured forward one of the many who stood around him. Squinting, Yamamoto thought they had a rather slender figure, more slender than the average woman. They also had a sword at their hip to match his, which ratcheted his pulse up a few notches in anticipation. This was a battle he could feel at ease fighting.

"I accept," he said, drawing the katana from its sheath. His opponent did the same, her blade coming free without a sound and flashing pale white.

"This empty space shall be your ring. We will observe from the outer edge." They all whisked away, leaving the two sword wielders in the middle of the field to square off against one another.

Yamamoto held the blade steadily in his hands, blade curved vaguely towards the sky. He let his breathing slow to become regular and steady, withdrawing into the space where all movement seemed to slow and senses heighten. He was aware of everything and nothing at the same time, acutely in tune with the way the lazy summer wind swirled around his wrists and ankles and lifted the strands of his opponent's fringe slightly. He felt the press of heat from the day now ended rising from the soil beneath his feet, and heard the cicadas start up their nightly serenade, the pitch of their song synchronising with the pulse of his heart. Though it was night, it was as if he could see his surroundings with perfect clarity.

When the woman moved, he shifted smoothly and brought his katana up to block the pointed strike, whisking himself away from the spot as her blade fell through the space he had just occupied. She recovered without any discernible break in her steel's path, sweeping it sideways at his body which he again fended off. Her movement was elegant and left no room for flashy manoeuvres. Each stroke was deliberate, each step refined and disciplined. They were also fast, leaving him little time to think.

She forced him in a circle around their dirt ring, relentless as the storm he could hear rumbling from far off. But if she was the storm then he would be the rain, light on his feet and as liable to adapt to his course as droplets did when they formed a stream. He danced out of her reach and whipped his blade around to give her throat a cold kiss, but she evaded that by executing a flawless backflip and his sword passed over her belly.

Her technique was a style familiar yet foreign to him. She did not limit herself to using only what the long blade was meant for. Yamamoto, who had dedicated himself to learning the rigid stances of the Shigure Souen discipline upon leaving school, did not recognise many of the strategies she employed against him. It made for a challenging fight, pushing his instincts and skill to their utmost limit.

In the end he was forced to improvise, feinting backwards then delivering a short, sharp thrust directly to their chest. The woman blocked the tip a mere centimetre from her chest, knocked the blade up, and Yamamoto imagined he could smell their surprise. Not one to leave an advantage untaken, he rushed forward with a sweeping diagonal slash from the top down. His blood was up and like a shark he wanted to see it spilt, smell its thick, coppery tang, taste the bitter--

His entire sword arm jarred, coming to an abrupt halt. Someone was between him and his prey and they had stopped his blade with the flat of their palms come together. He narrowed his eyes at them and tried to wrench his weapon back but the katana would not budge.

"Enough," said the gruff voice of the coven's Father.

The woman silently sheathed her blade but Yamamoto took a little more time to come to his senses. When he had, the Father let him take his sword back and sheathe it, though Yamamoto did not do it without some resentment towards the vampire for stopping their fight. The Father turned towards the woman once Yamamoto had put the katana away. "What did you think of him?"

"Predictable." Yamamoto's eyes widened when he heard the timbre of their voice. His opponent had not been a woman at all but a man! "Single-minded, ruthless, and a killer who treats work no differently from play."

The Father inclined his head and turned back to Yamamoto as the rest of the coven crept forward to gather at his back once more. "I'm afraid we won't be accepting your leader's offer, hunter."

After what they had said of him, the rejection was like kicking an already downed opponent. "May I know why?" he asked with borderline politeness.

"Tell him we do not wish to form alliances with someone whose men cannot restrain themselves." The vampire turned to leave and the rest of his coven prepared to do the same.

"And you can?" he demanded angrily. He shouldn't have said it; he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but they were said and he could do nothing to take them back. The long-haired swordsman he had just fought snorted while their Father, he sensed, looked back at him with what seemed to be amusement. It certainly sounded as much from their tone.

"Boy, if we vampires did not have some measure of restraint, the entire human race would have been subjugated by us long ago." They all of them departed then in a thunderous rush of wind. Just in time to miss the cool sprinkle which began its descent from the storm clouds he had heard coming a short while back.

Yamamoto's golden eyes glared at the empty space then at the heavy grey shapes in the sky which stretched all the way to the horizon. "May they all burn in hell," he muttered as he strode angrily from the site, oblivious to the way the rain thickened and plastered hair and clothing to his body. Without bothering to warm and dry himself properly, he threw himself on the bed after peeling off his shirt and fell asleep.

 

That fit of pique was regretted the next day, when he woke in a cold sweat with a pounding headache. Rolling over with a groan, he shielded his eyes from the overly bright sun streaming through a small window above his bed.

_Painkillers_ , he thought groggily, hand slapping the low, wooden bedside table for a packet of the pills. His hand slid off without finding anything, forcing him to raise his head and squint for them. They had fallen on to the floor sometime during the night, but popping two into his mouth with a quick swallow almost made him pass out again.

Stumbling into the kitchen fifteen minutes later with his headache worse than ever, Yamamoto prepared for himself a small breakfast while trying to contain the shivers from his fever. It wasn't good to force himself, he knew, and he also knew what his boss would say if they were with him now.

_Fuck that_ , he thought, downing a scalding hot cup of green tea in one go. He set the cup down and wiped his mouth, making a meal of some rice leftover from yesterday's lunch. That stifling heat had returned to beat down upon the land; the swordsman could already feel the warmth emanating from the underside of the roof, slinking around to suffocate the air that he breathed, making sweat start to bead on his forehead.

Yamamoto rested his head on the table and ground the front part of his skull into it, thinking it might be enough to rid him of the ache. It wasn't.

Resigning himself to a crabby and unsociable day, he dragged himself to his feet and began to slouch through the house, collecting his possessions. Since negotiations had concluded for the worse, he suspected those who lived here would want him gone as soon as possible.

His katana he slung across his back, the hilt rising above his shoulder. Zipping up his canvas bag and hefting it, he wrestled for ten minutes with the door knob until he remembered it was supposed to turn the other way, after which he stumbled into the late morning sunlight.

The nearest train station was a three-hour walk away. Since the bus that could have taken him there had already left, the swordsman faced the uncomfortable prospect of requesting a lift from one of the less than welcoming farmers. After spending half an hour in the hot sun asking futilely for help, he eventually marched up to a pair of men, one younger and one older, who were loading the back of a pickup with crates, and asked bluntly if they were heading towards the main city.

The teenager eyed the hunter with open dislike while the man - presumably the boy's father - fanned himself with a water-soaked cap as he looked Yamamoto over.

"To the station?" the man asked eventually.

"Or as far as you're going in the direction of the city," he confirmed, ignoring the youth who pushed the last of the crates into the tray, slammed the back shut with unnecessary loudness and locked it into place. The man replaced his cap on his head and nodded slowly.

"I'll take you but you'll have to ride with the vegetables. If you damage them, you're paying." The man climbed into the cabin, closely followed by his surly son on the other side.

A little less than an hour later, they arrived at the city. Yamamoto felt colder now, a welcome change from the incessant humidity, and slowly sat up to work out the kinks in his neck and shoulders. The farmer's son came to open the back of the pickup and scowled at him as he jumped down and landed easily on to the kerb.

"Thanks," Yamamoto said amiably, putting on a smile to inversely match the boy's downturned lips. He carried his katana in his left hand, settling his bag on his back so he could draw his weapon immediately if need be. Then, whistling, he sauntered into the station past swarming men and women pouring in the other direction.

While waiting to purchase a ticket, someone tapped him on the shoulder. A man smiled and held out a wallet when he turned around.

"This fell out," they said. A patch covered one eye, the other was a mischievous blue. A solid blue, not the wishy-washy sky kind. Yamamoto took his wallet back with a nod of thanks, about to turn back when the man spoke up again.

"Are you one of them? Those people who hunt vampires?" He seemed to have no regard for who might be listening. Yamamoto was sure that quite a few of the commuters hurrying past them wanted to stop and listen.

Forcing a smile, the swordsman replied, "No, I'm training in kendo. Competition level." Yamamoto did participate in contests occasionally, when time allowed.

The one-eyed man didn't seem to notice the caginess of his reply and actually looked more excited. "So that's where I've seen you before! Yamamoto Takeshi, correct? Rokudou Mukuro." He extended a hand, which the swordsman shook with barely concealed reluctance.

"My train--"

"Oh, yes, sorry. Let's talk on the way." To Yamamoto's despair, the man did exactly that, chattering inanely and matching the brisk pace he set as they navigated their way past the swell of humanity to secure a spot on the platform just as the train began to pull in. At that point, he turned to his companion and began to bid him farewell, thinking to be rid of him on the ride back to Tokyo.

"Well, it was nice meeting you--"

"I'm headed to Tokyo as well," Mukuro interrupted, looking entirely too happy about it. "To the Association, in fact, which I thought was where you were heading as well. Still," - Yamamoto could hear his laugh over the sound of the train coming to a halt - "I hope you don't mind if I stick with you?"

Damn, they had him there. With what little luggage the stranger was carrying, he hadn't realised they were travelling there with the intention of becoming a new recruit. Unless he admitted his earlier lie, Yamamoto would have to find a way to lose Mukuro and avoid him forever thereafter.

_I'll tell him when we get there_ , the swordsman thought testily, not pleased to be having a chattering companion when what he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. Once they were packed on to the train, he tuned most of Mukuro's chatter out and nodded and smiled at the appropriate times while revisiting what the vampires had said to him last night. They thought he couldn't control himself? Ridiculous. His father had trained him in the discipline of the blade for years and he knew when he was losing control. He wouldn't have killed that silver-haired vampire - only maimed them a little, given them a small taste of what they'd inflicted upon his father two years ago.

They had to change lines a few times before they finally reached Tokyo, and when they did it was Mukuro who turned to him first, after traversing a confusion of coloured signs and bustling crowds to pass through the ticket barriers at their destination.

"This is where we part then. It was a pleasure to meet you, Yamamoto Takeshi. I wish you luck for your next tournament." With that, they turned on their heel and began to stride off. Their dark, blue-tinged hair might have vanished amongst the rest had Yamamoto not broken past his reluctance and called them back.

"Wait up!"

oOo

The alarm hadn't needed disengaging. This was a source of relief to the violet-haired girl who crouched by the door, searching her tool belt for an appropriate lockpick with which she began to delicately pick the lock. Focused intently on her task, she belatedly remembered that she was supposed to monitor her surroundings for movement and quickly glanced around. Her breath came in puffs of mist as her lone eye struggled to do the work of two. Sensing nothing, she returned to her work and broke only one of her lockpicks before she succeeded. Having already greased the hinges, the door slid open soundlessly at her touch.

The kitchen beyond was a disaster zone. Broken crockery from a ravaged cupboard threatened to cut into her bare feet as she quietly and carefully crept through the kitchen to the main hallway. The cold tiles were soon replaced by the lacquer of polished floorboards, softened by the occasional rug. Nothing untoward in the rooms on this floor; merely more broken glass, torn curtains and ripped upholstery.

Stairs leading upstairs drew her attention next. Cautious tiptoeing over to the carpeted surface showed specks of blood against the whiteness of the wool, leading up. Controlling her breathing, she placed a foot slowly on the rightmost side of the first step...

_Creak!_

She froze. That sound had come from upstairs. Her body quivered in place as her eye stared hard at the vague moonshadows on the wall above, watching for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

After five minutes, she felt it was safe to take another step. She gripped the rail and settled her left foot as far to the side of the second step as she could without making a noise herself. Continuing in this fashion, she approached the top of the staircase and slowly leaned out, looking left and right down the corridor.

Nothing.

There were three rooms up here: one on the left facing the bannister and two others on the right, opposite each other. Trying to steady the trembling in her fingers, she crept to the left room first and nudged it open.

_Bang!_

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp when one of the doors to the rooms behind her slammed shut. When she whipped around there was nobody there. Just the wind, she told herself. Yet even so she pressed her back to the wall and slowly scanned the length of the corridor. Ignoring the fluttering in her stomach, she pushed open the partially opened door.

Hanging from the ceiling was a corpse, still dripping blood.

She uttered a soft scream and fell back with a very audible thump. From behind a cold presence encircled her, a hand cupping her jaw and sibilant words hissed into her ear.

" _Blooooood..._ "

Unable to help herself, she screamed again.

The lights came on with blinding suddenness. The corpse was a dummy, swinging grotesquely from a noose. The blood was fake - thickened sugar water mixed with red dye. The man who had grabbed her and hissed those words in her ear stood back with a tired sigh. An automatic voice somewhere overhead announced, " _Test over, test over_ ," while Chrome was helped out of the house by her 'attacker', wiping away tears. A man with spiky brown hair and amber eyes was waiting just outside the door to offer sympathy.

"This is the fifth time now, Chrome. Are you sure you want to be a hunter?" Tsuna's voice was laced with worry as he offered her his handkerchief. She accepted it to dab at her eyes then gave it back while the man who had escorted her retreated to assist the clean-up effort.

"Yes. I have to repay the Association for looking after me for so many years," she said quietly. She was already pulling herself together and standing a little straighter. They were almost of a height, she and Tsuna. "I'll pass next time," she said quaveringly but resolutely.

Tsuna smiled in encouragement. "You don't have to be a hunter, remember. You can be a tracker. We're short on those," he said as they walked out of the elaborate testing room into the main facility.

Chrome shook her head. "I want to help more than that," she said firmly, putting a premature stop to any argument the brunette might muster. With a small laugh, Tsuna let the matter go.

"I'll find you a partner then. Some practical experience might lessen your fear," he suggested as they waited for one of three lifts that would take them to the upper floors. She nodded; experience might be just what she needed to lessen her fear.

The lift took them up one floor to where the hunters' sleeping quarters and main weapons storage were. Here was where the men and women who lived too far away for a daily train ride to be convenient stayed while they studied and trained to become members of the vampire-hunting organisation known as the Association. With a few exceptions, each room could comfortably accommodate four people, and there was a communal bathroom large enough to cater for every resident at the end of the corridor down the hall. The carved wooden doors to each bedroom looked more decorative than safe at first glance; however, each one was capable of locking electronically, the wooden exterior hiding a solid slab of reinforced steel that even a determined vampire would need several hits to crumple. It meant they were heavier than usual and the slams they made excruciating (as more than one careless trainee had found out) but they were protection. Everything was state of the art; everything had the sheen, smell and look of a newly-constructed building.

Chrome had permanent residence in one of the rooms usually reserved for guests. She shared with no-one and had the queen-sized bed all to herself, as well as her own small bathroom. She'd told Tsuna that she didn't mind sharing with some of the other girls but they'd assigned her this room anyway. If there had already been a divide between the other trainees and herself because of her reclusive nature, being given special treatment did not help matters.

She stepped out of the lift on her own, Tsuna having to return to work, and she bid him goodbye quietly as the doors slid shut. All was silent in the hallway, the hunters and trainees either at lessons on the floor she had just come from, or outside scouting on their peace-keeping missions. A perfect time to have a good, long, uninterrupted soak in the bath.

Her hunter's kit was deposited on the bed, the door to her room shut with a quiet snick after her and the lock not a second after. She didn't trust any of the boys lodging here not to sneak into her room. Sometimes their eyes wandered and she didn't doubt that their hands would too, given the chance. The bathroom door was also locked, just in case.

Once the bath water was running hot and fast, she shrugged off her clothes and left them in a small basket by the door. After making sure everything she needed was close to hand, she shut off the water, gingerly tested the temperature with her hand, then slid in and allowed herself to be buoyed by the heat. Her quiet sigh was swallowed by the lingering steam, and from then there was only the sound of lapping water and her light breathing.

oOo

Tsuna adjusted his tie on the way up to the foyer and stepped out with a ready smile once the doors slid open. It was as crowded as always, with nearly every chair in the waiting area taken. He could have delegated the consultation work to a few subordinates, streamlined the process and made it more efficient, but he felt that it would make the Association resemble a business. Once you viewed an organisation like this as a corporation, you tended to feel more intimidated by it and lost any sense of familiarity there might have been otherwise.

He nodded to a few people as he was handed a thick stack of their (brief!) portfolios, containing basic details about themselves, relatives and any past instances of having been targeted by vampires. All one-page reports, he noted with some relief. Keeping his back straight and smile in place, he peeked at the photograph of his first appointment so he could greet the tense-looking woman by name as he led her to his office.

Time passed by strangely when he was closeted in there. Tsuna would slowly work through the pile, comfort, reassure or withhold cutting remarks as they walked in to beg or demand action be taken to cull the vampire menace that he and the Assocation worked to lessen. But before he knew it, the last man had walked out the door and his 'In' pile was considerably less than his 'Out' pile. Only then could he afford to lean back in his chair, stretch out the stiffness from his inactive limbs and rub the sleep from his eyes. He'd had another sleepless night - the third this week - and fully intended to get to bed early today no matter what emergency cropped up. Gokudera could handle anything that came by just this once, surely?

Trying not to stagger out of the room, he clutched the annotated profiles to his chest and covered another yawn as he left them at the front desk. The woman behind the counter smiled sympathetically as she took charge of them, clipping her fringe back so that it wouldn't fall and obscure her eyes.

"Don't stay up too late this time, Tsuna. It's not good for your health."

The brunette nodded wearily and yawned again. "Where's Haru?" he asked as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. The woman giggled.

"She's taking a few days off. I think Hibari almost stopped her poor heart." Tsuna laughed weakly, understanding how she must have felt. There wasn't one person who had been to school with the surly Japanese man that did not come away with a healthy respect for Hibari's temperament.

"Speaking of Hibari, is he still unconscious?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No, he woke up an hour ago. The only reason he's not trying to walk already is because of the sedatives the nurse gave him. But it won't be long," she added knowingly, and Tsuna couldn't disagree.

"I'll head upstairs and see him now," he said. "Thanks, Kyoko."

The infirmary on the first floor had walls of pale cream that gave off a gentle, cosy glow when struck by the natural light which flooded in through the floor-length windows. Along with the strategically-placed vases of flowers, the ward - even when its beds were filled with the sick and injured - still managed to remain homely. The choice of cream over taupe was Tsuna's: he had spent enough time in a hospital in his early years to dislike the generic, sterile environment that patients had to recover in.

There weren't many in the ward today. Tsuna greeted three trainees who bore scorch marks on their arms, laughed with them over the silly mistake which had led to their accident, then moved further down towards the bed where his strongest hunter had been relegated, away from anyone else.

Hibari's head turned away from the late afternoon metropolis outside at the sound of the brunette's footsteps. He didn't look it, but Tsuna knew that his bored, impassive features masked a deeper irritation and dissatisfaction with his inactivity. Putting on a lively smile (to which the other responded with a frown), he sat precariously on the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

The black-haired hunter returned his gaze to the city and responded indifferently. "Fine. Ready to work."

That was Hibari. Always in denial of his problems even if they could prove debilitating later on. Tsuna took a deep breath and proceeded carefully.

"The nurse said you were having a fit when they brought you in," he said. When the other's expression darkened his confidence wilted.

"Is this relevant to my current status, Sawada?" Hibari asked stiffly.

"Of course not," he said hastily, waving a hand before him as if trying to ward away the glare. "But even you get tired, right? You need to be well-rested if you're going to go Milan."

The other man frowned. "Milan?"

Tsuna rapped out the details in the short, brisk way Hibari liked them delivered. "There's a vampire we need you to track down. He's an old one, and I know you like challenges. But," he said more hesitantly, "we're not even sure if he's still there, so you might have to do a bit of legwork first."

He could tell by the way Hibari's eyes glittered that he had hooked him, line and sinker. This was not in the least bit reassuring to Tsuna. "When?" the black-haired hunter asked, fingers curling tightly around the sheets.

"Uh, well... The day after tomorrow." That was as long as Tsuna was sure he could keep Hibari in bed. "You can take whatever you think you'll need from the storeroom. Just remember to sign it off. Tomorrow," he said firmly, when the other hunter made to get out of bed. "You're going to rest today."

"I do not take orders from you," retorted Hibari. Tsuna exhaled and shook his head.

"Fine, just remember your plane isn't scheduled to depart until Thursday. I'll have someone deliver the brief to you later."

Hibari more or less taken care of, he returned to the front desk where he found Kyoko chatting affably to a tall stranger.

"Oh, Tsuna! Good timing - this person says he's interested in becoming a hunter."

Tsuna turned curiously towards the man, who was a good half-head taller than him, and was startled to see that, like Chrome, they were also missing an eye. That was where the resemblance ended though, the stranger's hair flowing long past their shoulders down their back, held together at the nape by a small clip. Their stance was easy, confident, possibly even haughty, and the tiny smirk Tsuna thought he could detect upon their lips added to the image. Despite that, he wasn't wearing anything that would stand out.

_Not that he needs anything else_ , Tsuna privately thought. Smiling, he held out his hand for the other to shake and introduced himself. "Welcome. My name is Sawada Tsunayoshi, but you can call me Tsuna."

The stranger's smile lost its edge (had he imagined there being one to begin with?) as they took his hand. It was then that Tsuna began to get the niggling sense that something was very, very wrong, but how could there be anything wrong in exchanging niceties? As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, the man's grip tightened subtly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Tsuna. My name is Rokudou Mukuro." Their single eye bored into Tsuna's own, capturing and holding his gaze in an oddly mesmerizing way. "But you can call me Mukuro."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the usual suspects for supporting me throughout the year. Chapter 3 is finally here!
> 
> (Note: A small edit was made to chapter 1 - Reborn does not remove his fedora in Tsuna's office.)

It had taken a week for them to get around to inspecting this particular body. The two, dark red puncture marks seemed to mock Reborn, vivid against the paleness of the corpse's skin. He paced slowly around the steel bench upon which the body lay, studying it in its entirety, but his eyes were repeatedly and irresistibly drawn back towards those punctures.

The victim was a young man in his late teens, bearing a shock of dirty blonde hair in a style to rival his protégé’s. It had been hard to identify the teen from the little that had been in his pockets, but a cursory investigation had turned up a name: Joushima Ken, a little-known juvenile delinquent who had recently served a short sentence at the local detention centre for robbery. He was the boy whom Hibari had recently saved from joining the ranks of the undead.

Reborn came to a halt beside the teen's head, eyes narrowed and mouth a thin, hard line. The autopsy room was a chilly four degrees Celsius, but he barely felt the cold for the anger which thrummed through his body.

Five hundred and fifty-three bodies, including this one, had passed through this room since the Association had set up its headquarters in Tokyo. And for every corpse that they did find, Reborn would bet there were at least two more that would never be found. The rate of deaths had not lessened in the twelve months they had spent forging alliances and promoting peaceful initiatives between vampires and humans, and with Japan's fertility rate declining every passing year, it wouldn't be long before they lived in a nation of vampires. He knew what Tsuna would say: 'Give it time'. Except his former student was ignorant of this place, the basement in which it was situated, and the knowledge contained within. Time was something they did not have.

 _If Tsuna knew what I knew, would he still be so forgiving towards them?_ he wondered.

The sound of doors swinging open prompted him to look over his shoulder. A doctor, come to perform a proper autopsy on the subject and to see if there was anything worth salvaging. The man's eyes flicked over the corpse as they approached and they opened their mouth to speak.

"You know I don't like operating on m--"

"Salvage the heart if you can," Reborn interrupted. "Put aside any blood that might still be in the body, then burn the rest." Taking brisk, precise steps, he made his way to the exit with the doctor's resigned sigh on his heels. Shamal would grumble, but he would do his job and keep his mouth shut about it, and that was what mattered most. On the threshold, he paused to throw a casual reminder over his shoulder.

"And make sure they're dead." There was a sharp clatter and a loud curse as Shamal dropped whatever surgical tool he was holding on to his tray. Reborn smirked and left him to it, proceeding further down the corridor to an inconspicuous plaque marked 'Testing Room' to check on the progress of several ongoing experiments.

To enter, he had to pass a retinal and pulse scan which verified both his identity and that he was a living being. Then the doors would slide open, admitting him into an airlock. After the first doors had slid shut, there was a short pause before the second set slid open to allow him into the Association's most highly-kept secret. Along with the morgue and the autopsy area, this laboratory was nestled far below the surface and separated from what Tsuna and the other hunters called the bottommost floor of the main building by more than a thousand tonnes of earth. It was only reachable via two lifts unaffiliated with those in the main building, and a closely-monitored set of emergency stairs.

Upon his entrance, it seemed as if all eyes turned towards Reborn. It was a vaguely sinister unified movement made by all the half-dead and barely alive creatures kept behind the pure silver bars, in cages of hollowed walls stuffed with grave dirt heavily saturated in salt. Each was just big enough for its occupant to curl up and sleep, but high enough for all but the tallest to stand upright. Every single one of them shared this much in common: blood-red eyes and a tortured, hungry visage where the points of two fangs protruded from beneath their upper lip.

Vampires.

Reborn ignored the glazed stares, heading into the heart of the laboratory where several scientists were carefully observing a blood-starved specimen straining between silver bars in order to reach a vial of fresh blood that was hanging just out of its reach. The lead scientist - a man with hair as deep green as his name implied - glanced over and nodded to Reborn as the latter approached.

"Reborn."

"Verde."

The hunter came to stand beside the scientists, watching the vampire's crazed, futile attempt to reach through the bars without them touching its skin.

"Twenty-four minutes ago, the subject was calm and sated," Verde remarked to nobody in particular. "Twenty minutes ago, the subject was fed with compound BA1543, to prematurely induce hunger by increasing their metabolic rate. The subject began to exhibit symptoms of bloodlust after a further eleven minutes, and has no longer displays any recognisable human behaviours."

Reborn's eyes were shadowed by the brim of his fedora. Why he continued to wear the hat indoors, no-one knew, but no-one asked him to remove it. Without a word, he strode to the hanging vial and plucked it from its place. Verde looked as if he wanted to say something, but kept his mouth shut as the other man approached the bars of the cage and halted just out of reach of the pitiful creature's fingers. The vampire's crimson eyes no longer tracked the vial's movements, riveted instead on the hunter.

"Want it?" he asked, giving the glass a little shake to stir up the blood inside. The vampire said nothing, but its gaze did settle on the container. With a cruel smile, Reborn leaned forward and upended its contents on the floor, careful to not get any blood on his shoes. He heard someone sigh behind him and knew it was Verde, probably distressed at having his laboratory stained.

The vampire desperately stuck its hand out to catch the blood as it fell but only succeeded in scattering droplets all across the floor in front of its cage. What little liquid it did catch was immediately brought to its mouth, whereupon the creature tipped its head back and swallowed every last drop before licking its hand clean. Sneering, Reborn turned away from the disgusting display and tossed the vial carelessly in the scientists' general direction. One of them caught it while Verde looked on in silent disapproval.

"You shouldn't treat them like that," he said, following the other man towards an elaborate chemistry setup, leaving his assistants to clean up the mess and take care of the vampire. "They're not human but you can at least respect them as intelligent beings."

"They're no more intelligent than starving dogs." Reborn watched the progress of a distillation while Verde wrote a few notes on a clipboard, then straightened and turned his dark gaze on the scientist. "You're not pitying them are you, Dr Verde?" he asked mockingly.

The green-haired man looked affronted. "There's no need for them to suffer outside experimental parameters." As it always did, Reborn's smirk nearly goaded him into taking a cheap shot at the hunter, but he merely tsked and readjusted the position of his glasses.

"If you're only here to mock my test subjects, then I suggest you leave me to my work," Verde instead said frostily.

"Don't mind me," Reborn replied nonchalantly. "Treat me as an observer." As the scientist gave him a cold glare and strode off in a huff, the hunter laughed quietly and returned his attention to the simmering beakers.

Most of the liquids were dark red - synthesised blood which they were testing on some of the vampires they kept. The solutions which worked were then mass-produced for the dhampir hunters upstairs, who needed the blood to supplement their normal, human diets if they wanted to be at peak strength. By all accounts the stuff tasted horrible, but no-one complained when the alternative was rounding up volunteer donors.

 _Everything is proceeding well_ , was Reborn's summation as he concluded his inspection of the lab. Verde's assistants as well as Verde himself completely ignored his silent presence, even when he hovered over their shoulders and cast a shadow over their work. Seeing no need for formal farewells, he made his own way back to the entrance. It was a simple matter to take one of the lifts up to the surface, sidle down a concealed pathway that let him out some hundred metres away from the Association, then join the crowds and saunter into the building as if he had been out on a stroll.

oOo

"This is the dormitory where our foreign guests and long-distance students stay. Each room can house up to four - though guests are given their own beds, of course."

Mukuro watched a pair of young men pass and listened to them idly chatter about the weapons they had managed to master earlier in the afternoon. His attention was only half on Tsuna, his guide, as the man tattled on about the layout of the floor, how he was to never, ever enter a girl's room without her express permission, and other minor rules and advice which were apparently vital for him to know since they were strictly upheld.

What was most interesting about all of this, he thought, was how new the building was. The Association was an offshoot of the Vongola, based in Italy, and had only been established in Tokyo early last year. Since then, their new leader had taken the unprecedented move of trying to forge some sort of treaty between hunters and the covens: a peaceful agreement that would allow the vampires to feed so long as no harm came to the victim, in return for a vow that the hunters would not harm or kill unless a feeding resulted in the death or non-consensual turning of the victim. The receptionist had been quite happy to impart the details of the treaty to him when he inquired after it.

"--and this is your room!"

They'd come to the end of the tour. Thanking Tsuna for his time and help, he waited for the man to depart then lightly pushed the door open and gazed at what were to be his new lodgings. There were two bunkbeds pushed against adjacent walls and two sets of drawers against the third. The beds were made, the sheets crisp and clean, the room was essentially spotless.

It appeared he had the space to himself for now, he thought as he deposited his bag by one of the beds. The shower area, he recalled, was a shared space in the centre of this vast floor. While he didn't need one per se (vampires did not secrete anything that could produce a scent), it was a good idea to keep up appearances if he was to be living amongst other people.

Taking one now would be a good idea, in fact. A rinse and wash after a long journey - he might even get a chance to bond with the students. Mukuro took his towel and a change of clothes out of his bag, leaving the rest behind as he followed several small plaques that directed him towards the showers.

Stepping into the communal bathroom, he was hit with a rolling wave of human scent that immediately had him salivating. Warm, damp bodies in various states of undress were arrayed to his left and right. Their strong pulses sent a healthy flush of pink across their backs. Espeically their necks, which Mukuro found he had to tear his gaze from lest he be caught staring. Further ahead he could see a long row of shower and toilet stalls against the wall opposite a row of ceramic sinks. The tiled walls echoed with the laughter of trainees relaxing after a hard day's work, though the noise level did dip slightly as those closest to the entrance noticed him.

Nodding amicably, he walked straight past everyone to an unoccupied shower stall and locked himself in. There were a couple of hooks on the back of the door to hang clothes from and a small, raised ledge to place any other items he might have. He quickly stripped himself down, made sure everything was out of the way of the water, then twisted the tap on. A strong torrent of water rained down upon his head, plastering long hair to skull.

"Heard that guy got sent out on assignment."

The voice was coming from the neighbouring shower.

"Oh yeah? Didn't he have a fit earlier this week?"

This one came from the stall beyond it. A third speaker joined in: they sounded like they were outside, perhaps in the process of dressing.

"Yeah. Hit his head, tried to murder anyone who got close to him when they brought him in."

"I always knew he was crazy. So where'd he get sent off to?"

"Don't know. Somewhere in Europe."

Mukuro decided to join in. "He sounds like quite a character. Who are you talking about?"

There was some laughter. Then the second speaker responded: "You must be one of the new guys. You're lucky Hibari's going to be away because he is a _monster_ during training. When he does show up, that is."

"Hibari Kyouya?" The man was feared amongst vampires. And, apparently, vampire hunters as well.

"Yep. He usually doesn't bother with us 'herbivores'. But sometimes he'll come down and beat some shit up in the training room. If we're lucky, it's not one of us."

Mukuro let them chatter on until they had concluded their own showers and left, giving his name and making vague promises to meet them later. Men began to trickle out one by one as minutes passed, eventually leaving him alone in the bathroom with water pouring, wasted, down the drain. It was only when the last tantalising scent of warm, naked flesh had departed that he shut off the water and let the steam swirl gently around his damp body.

He had already known that Hibari was a hunter here. The man was the reason for his being in Japan to begin with. Vampires were as bad as any circle of women for spreading gossip. Whispers of a strong, young hunter making a name for himself in Japan had eventually made its way to his ears and enticed him out of a comfortable life in Beijing. Humans who chose to hunt vampires had to train themselves vigorously to improve their agility and instinctual response alongside physical strength. But even at peak fitness, the normal human being was hard put to match any vampire except those newly-made. Hunters were successful because they worked together, whereas vampires tended towards solitude.

Hibari, however, was different. By all accounts the man worked alone, and he was quickly notching up an incredible number of kills for a lone hunter. Mukuro wanted to see for himself what sort of strength they possessed and - this was an unlikely dream - sample their blood. For the blood of strong fighters was to all vampires what well-aged vintage is to the connoisseur: there was no better taste to be had amongst all of humankind. The best hunters didn't have to go looking for vampires - vampires came to them.

As he stepped out of the stall, naked from the waist up, he almost walked into someone passing by his door. Both men looked visibly startled at seeing each other but quickly regained their composures.

"Still training hard, Yamamoto Takeshi?" Mukuro asked with an impish grin.

Yamamoto forced a smile and nodded. "Always." It was clear he didn't want to talk, because he hurried on before Mukuro could say anything else and locked himself in the stall at the end of the row.

Chuckling, the half-blood vampire gathered his things and left, quietly disturbed by the fact that he hadn't heard the other man enter.

_I'll have to keep an eye on this one._

 

Tsuna was there again the next morning to greet and walk him to where the initiations were held, on the bottommost floor. As they made their way there via elevator, the man explained to him the particulars of the test he was about to undertake.

And yes, Tsuna said, it involved a trial by combat.

"No weapons though," he clarified as they walked together to the designated room - a training facility usually used to mimic the conditions of real fights outside. "We did allow them at first, but then, ah, one of our trainees was almost killed, so we decided to ban them altogether."

"Will we be fighting each other?" Mukuro asked curiously. Tsuna shook his head.

"You'll each verse one of our first-year senior trainees. If you can last for three minutes, or knock them out, then you pass."

"And if we don't, then we'll be put out?" he murmured. The hunter looked aghast at the thought and shook his head furiously.

"No! It just means that we'll spend more time training you up. And there are other positions as well. Having fighters is important, but no matter what their job is, everyone here has to keep up a certain level of self-defence." They had reached the door now, so Tsuna had to bring his explanations to an end. "I'll explain more afterwards," he promised, holding the door open for Mukuro.

There were three applicants apart from himself waiting inside the observation deck that overlooked the particular training room that they were to spar in. Two male, one female. All human. He nodded amicably and went to stand with them, unconsciously keeping himself apart by leaving a sliver of space between himself and the group. He could almost smell their nervousness as Tsuna flashed a smile at them all.

"Don't be afraid," Tsuna began, addressing them all warmly. "There's no shame in failing this test. No-one will laugh at you, no-one will mock you. As you have been told, you will each face one of our first-year students in unarmed combat. If you are able to knock them out, or last for three minutes without being knocked out yourself, then you'll be automatically accepted as a senior trainee. If not, don't worry - after a couple of months of training here, you can try again." He nodded at the lift behind them whose doors slid open, as if on cue. "We'll be taking that downstairs."

The five of them filed into the lift and rode it in tense silence. All except for Tsuna and Mukuro, who looked the only people at ease as the doors opened on to a faux city setting, laid with real tarmac and built with real concrete. It was a replica of the city just beyond the Association's doors, Mukuro noted, smoothing a hand down the side of a lamp post. It all looked very intimidating, but judging by the four individuals waiting for them down the street, they weren't going to use the entire floor. Not that he would have had a problem with using the environment, but couldn't to draw attention to himself here. He glanced up at the booth they'd just left, whose slanted windows looked down upon the city. From that vantage point an observer would only be able to see a small section of the city, if it wasn't already obstructed by the fake buildings. Given the vast space it seemed a pointless fixture. But then he noticed the dark tracks in the ceiling spidering from the top of the booth across the ceiling. The booth could move.

The coming together of the two parties felt more like an anti-climatic showdown than an initiation. Mukuro hung back slightly and let the other three pair off, nodding to the remaining fourth individual - a buff-looking young male with muscled arms. They nodded back coolly and their eyes weighed him up as they took position in a spot a little away from the rest. Tsuna clapped his hands together, watching them all from the sidewalk.

"Begin!"

Mukuro's opponent charged him with a fierce yell. Their large hands looked like they could easily squeeze the breath from his lungs but the vampire had no intention of letting such a thing happen. Flowing smoothly out of the way, Mukuro watched in amusement as the young man stumbled past, propelled by their own momentum. His hands remained in their pockets, where they had been ever since he'd stepped out of the elevator.

"It's only been three seconds," he told them mildly. He smirked at the glare flashed his way as they picked themselves up for another try.

The short, sharp way the man threw punches at him spoke of discipline and training. They didn't waste energy on flashy, intimidating moves, and this Mukuro approved of. But it was quickly apparent that their moveset was limited. Well executed, but limited. After a minute of evading them (to their increasing frustration), Mukuro felt he had seen the extent of their ability. Quite disappointing really. Then again, they were only a first year trainee.

He let the fight drag on for another half-minute to lessen the hurt to the man's pride when it came time for their inevitable loss. Then after ducking beneath a lunge, he wove out of the way of their follow-up twist and drove his fist into their stomach. They doubled over and he kneed them in the head, causing them to stagger back and keel over on to the ground with a faint groan. They lay motionless where they had fallen.

Mukuro sighed and crouched by the senseless trainee, checking that they still had a pulse. The thong containing the silver bullet couldn't completely negate his unusual strength. He was sure he'd managed to regulate it, yet one could never be too careful. He was relieved to see that the boy's pulse was still present.

Tsuna walked over as he straightened. Two of the other pairs were still fighting; one initiate was being helped up by their sparring partner after their loss. "You made it look easy," the man told him with something approaching awe. "Are you trained in any discipline?"

Mukuro shrugged modestly. "One or two." Four hundred years was a lot of time to learn more than one or two martial disciplines.

"Then you should have said so from the beginning! We're always short of teachers because they get called out on assignments. If you like, you could try for a teaching position in combat instead. We can teach you everything else you need to know separately."

Mukuro pursed his lips and pretended to give the proposal some thought. Not having to waste time rising through the ranks as a student would get him what the Elders wanted to know sooner. And the sooner he got what the Elders wanted, the sooner he could return to his solitary life. There was no question he was going to accept. "What would I have to do to apply for such a position?" he asked.

"Well..." Suddenly Tsuna looked hesitant. "Since you'd be applying for combat, you'd have to participate in another fight. But with one of our trained hunters this time. Traditionally, Reborn" - here he chuckled nervously - "is the one who does the testing for that. No-one has ever been able to beat him, but he's got a really good eye for potential." Intrigued, Mukuro brushed against his consciousness. Yet he could not make out anything clearer than a jumble of emotion before Tsuna's mind flinched away from him and became more closed off. Someone had trained Tsuna very thoroughly.

"I haven't heard of him before," Mukuro mused, watching as the last two fights came to an inconclusive end - which meant an automatic pass for the two initiates.

"He doesn't take on jobs much anymore," Tsuna replied, also watching. He clapped his hands again and raised his voice to address everyone. "All right, well done! Mikata and Nimura, head upstairs and ask for Shouichi, he'll set you up with some basic equipment. Itoshi, wait for me in the lobby, I'll discuss alternative options with you. Everyone else-" Tsuna smiled warmly at his trainees "-well done."

Mukuro was about to join the exodus for the lift, but Tsuna held him back a moment. "Even if you don't want a teaching spot, you're still welcome to stay."

"No, I think I'll try for it," Mukuro said, lips curving into a small smile. "I'd like to see how good this Reborn is."

Reborn, as it turned out, had disappeared for the day. Kyoko had only seen him briefly: he'd turned up for a few minutes, chatted with her, and then walked back out.

Tsuna thanked her and shrugged apologetically to Mukuro.

"I guess you'll have to meet him later. There's no knowing when he'll turn up again. It might be three days or three weeks."

"That's fine, there's no hurry," Mukuro reassured him. "I'm quite happy to join your trainees for now."

"Great. Like I told the others, talk to Shouichi, get him to set you up with some equipment. Then you're free to wander around and observe some classes for the rest of today. See which ones you like more."

Mukuro nodded and made his way back to the lifts as Tsuna gave his attention to Itoshi. Once in the privacy of the enclosed space, he grew thoughtful. There was a friendly atmosphere here, welcoming and open and kind, largely perpetuated by the hunters' smiling boss, Tsuna. It was at odds with the snide looks some of the human hunters threw at him, and at the other dhampirs, when they thought Tsuna wasn't looking. This place was not as harmonious as the vampires had been led to believe.

When he went to see Shouichi, the harried redhead was in the observer's booth fretting over something he'd misplaced. The teen started in surprise upon noticing Mukuro was in the room, and managed to pull himself together long enough to escort the half-blood to the storeroom and toss together a basic hunter's kit. As soon as that was done, the man left with a hurried and distracted apology. Nonplussed, Mukuro returned to the lifts as he examined what he had been given.

Many of the objects were things designed to be used by a novice panicking at the sight of a vampire. All were kept in a leather satchel meant to be worn on a belt. There were three vials of water ( _holy water_ , Mukuro amended upon seeing the label), a metal cannister filled with compressed air and fine silver dust, and a knife whose handle was decorated with just enough silver inlay that the mere sight of it repulsed him. The blade was edged with silver as well, designed so that it would leaving a burning, slow-healing wound in weaker vampires. That knife was gingerly handled until Mukuro got back to his room, and then shut away in one of the unused drawers with a shudder.

The silver was supposed to prevent vampires (or demons) like him handling hunters' weapons. He would have to choose another from the storeroom that he could handle in order to cover up its disappearance. Mukuro left the rest of the items in the satchel and found a belt to carry it on, which he then fastened around his waist.

With spare time on his hands, he went to investigate some of the classes currently in progress. He chose to sit at the back of one being given a lesson on the history of the Vongola. The teacher, a man in his late fifties with grey in his hair, briefly glanced Mukuro's way when he entered but continued without pause in the lecture.

"Until the late seventeenth century, supernatural creatures such as demons, and their consorts, witches and warlocks, were an extremely common sight. They preyed upon ignorance and fear, forming pacts in exchange for a man or woman's soul. These pacts were often some goal the man or woman wanted accomplished, whether it was something as petty as revenge for a slight, or something more ambitious such as becoming mayor. With a demon's power and guile, almost anything was achievable."

The man turned to the electronic board behind him and began pulling up various images. Grey and white and sepia photographs, as well as vibrant paintings from centuries past.

"We know less about vampires and their origins than we care to admit. Though the Association is indeed focused on teaching methods used to hunt vampires, the hope is that one day we will understand rather than fear them. Fear is a product of ignorance, after all." The man turned back to address the class. "As for how demons relate to the subject of vampires, it is the hypothesis of many scholars today that they were the genesis of vampires."

Mukuro knew his face was showing visible surprise. Most of the class was also beginning to perk up in interest.

The man continued unperturbed. "It is difficult to separate fact from fiction when we must peruse old - and if I may say - mostly fictional texts, considering demons are in and of themselves mysterious creatures. Their influence lies primarily in literature, religion and the arts. Very few reliable first-hand accounts of demons can be found, so all we have are old records that were kept by past members of the Vongola - which, as some of you may already know, is the parent organisation of this institution.

"Religious texts are divided on the exact nature of demons and demonic influence. They are not necessarily malign but can be used by the summoner for malicious purposes. Vampires are thought to have arisen as a separate species sometime before the thirteenth century, as one of the earliest documented usages of their name appears around then."

That was wrong, Mukuro thought to himself. Vampires existed before then, or else the one who had made him had been lying about his age.

It was the only contrary thought he had throughout the lesson. The remaining lecture proved an engaging insight to the knowledge the hunters had about vampires, covering the historical spread of vampires throughout Europe as well as the differing types which appeared in various folklores. At times the line between 'demon' and 'vampire' blurred - which was, the teacher said, another reason why it was hard to pin down the exact origins of vampires, and why the Vongola took care of exorcisms as well as hunts.

At the lesson's conclusion, Mukuro approached the professor. Crinkled eyes watched him from beneath dark grey eyebrows, the man pre-empting Mukuro's question by saying, "I know almost nothing about the Vongola, so please do not bother asking."

"I wanted to ask about the Association, actually," Mukuro said smoothly.

The man harrumphed. "I have students asking me every year about whether I can tell them of the first generation of vampire hunters. There's no need to lie to me, young man. Giotto Vongole - he's Sawada's ancestor, did you know? He and his circle of friends were the first of their time to take a coordinated stand against vampires."

"Sawada...?" That cheerful brunette was related to Giotto Vongole? The news shook him, though not for reasons that the man might expect. "If Giotto Vongole and his comrades initially took a stand against vampires, when was demon hunting added to their responsibilities?"

"Ah." The old man shook his head. "For that, you would have to look in the Vongola library for their past annals. It isn't something that is common knowledge outside of Italy." He lowered his voice to a hoarse mutter. "I hear it didn't happen under the best of circumstances."

Mukuro thanked him for his time and left the classroom thoughtful. He was already familiar with the first generation and their rise to fame - he had seen Giotto Vongole with his own eyes - but history appeared to have glorified his actions a fair bit, as always happened when the 'past' became 'history'. That the Vongola's operations had expanded to include demon exorcisms apart from vampire-hunting was interesting, but not on his list of priorities. He was to evaluate the motives of the hunters and report his findings to the Elders. Nothing more, nothing less. He would not give them an excuse to accuse him of overstepping his bounds.

Making his way towards the lifts, he crossed paths with a young woman approaching from a different corridor. He pressed the button to go up and she came and stood quietly beside him, a small distance apart.

Mukuro glanced sidelong at the girl. Her most notable features were her violet hair and an eye covered by an eye patch, the same side as his. She stood with back straight, but in a manner that implied discipline rather than self-confidence. Her crisp uniform consisted of a white shirt, and a dark skirt that was almost scandalously short. At her waist was a belt containing most of the basic tools in a vampire hunter's arsenal, while in her hands she meticulously arranged a set of lockpicks within a roll-up pouch.

"Planning a heist?" he asked lightly. She looked up, surprised.

"No," she said quietly, putting the kit away. She didn't volunteer any further explanation and Mukuro eventually gave up and turned away. When the lift arrived, he let her enter first and kept to one corner. They were both headed to the sleeping quarters so there was no need for him to press the button.

It wasn't a very long trip but it was ridden in stiff silence. The kind of silence that accumulated between strangers in an enclosed space. When they arrived she got off briskly and immediately strode towards the women's side. He followed suit more slowly, pausing to stare after her.

"Excuse me!" he called out. "May I know your name?"

She stopped in her tracks and half-turned back towards him. There was suspicion - but no fear - in her demeanour.

"Mio nome e Croma," she said eventually. Then she turned on her heel and disappeared. She probably thought he wouldn't understand, but he did.

"Chrome," he repeated softly to himself. He committed the name to memory as he headed to his room.

 

He saw Chrome the next morning during a collective warm-up session on one of the streets in the training hall. It wasn't compulsory, but it was recommended since getting the blood circulating was said to assist in brain function (so Tsuna said with the face of one repeating another's words). Considering that Mukuro had minimal circulation to speak of anyway, he would never know if that claim was true.

In any case, it was a wonderful opportunity to bond with the students. He struck up a friendly banter with the dhampir next to him before they paired off for a practice spar. Since his skill level was far above the average student, it mostly consisted of him teaching the other young man how to get through strong defenses.

"You're good," the youth said as he wiped his forehead after an hour of an unsuccessful flurry of punches. Mukuro had stopped them all and didn't even look a little bit tired. "Where did you study?"

"I was self-taught," Mukuro answered with an appropriate amount of feigned modesty. The other man looked incredulous.

"No way," he laughed. "You're incredible! Better than the teachers we have at the moment, I think. Hope you get the teaching position when Reborn gets back. See you in class!"

Mukuro waved them off, pretending not to notice the purple-haired girl from yesterday approach him from behind.

"You were lying," she said quietly. She wore a dark tracksuit over a thinner set of clothing today. Light sweat beaded her forehead. "Where did you learn?"

"Here and there." Mukuro readjusted the way his shirt hung and carded his hair back to a semblance of neatness. He'd acquired a few tangles and patiently picked them out one by one. Chrome refused to be put off by his preoccupation though.

"How old are you?" she asked bluntly.

He answered promptly, "Eighteen. Why?"

She grabbed his arm and tugged him away from the loose assembly of hunters. He let her, partly out of curiosity, partly out of bemusement. She took him about a block away, far enough to be out of earshot of even the dhampirs, before whipping around and slamming her palm against his chest. It was surprise more than anything that caused him to step back, hitting the wall of the building behind him.

"How old are you really?" she asked again. This time there was a threatening undertone to her query. Her palm concealed a small silver badge which she was using to keep him quietly pressed against the side of the building. Mukuro, already weakened by the silver bullet he kept in the thong around his neck, found his knees threatening to give out from beneath him.

"I'm eighteen," he insisted, voice strained. "That thing's making me itch, you know."

Chrome ignored him. She pressed harder. "You're lying," she said.

Mukuro wanted to snarl at her, but that would reveal his fangs. He had to get her to remove the silver without exposing his true nature. He sucked in a breath that failed to alleviate the heat gathering where the badge pressed. He didn't know the manner in which an abominable mix of demon and vampire blood perished, but if he burst into flames that would be it - he'd be finished, one way or another.

Since reasoning hadn't worked, he tried a flare of temper. "My father was the blood-sucking vamp, not me! He raped my mother and left her to die in an alley. I wouldn't be here if she hadn't been found and rushed to hospital by a passing stranger. She died giving birth to me months later. I was told when I was old enough to understand that it was 'as if I had been a vampire, draining the very life force from her body'. They laughed at themselves and said they weren't being serious, but I could see how they distanced themselves from me. No-one would have anything to do with me once they found out! All because my mother's rapist happened to be a monster and she wouldn't give up the bastard child he forced upon her!"

His voice had risen to a shout by the end. Her eye had steadily widened as the tirade went on and she was startled into taking a step back when he yelled the last words to her face. He glared fiercely, noting clinically that they were a lot more similar in physical appearance than he had first realised. How had she lost her eye, he wondered? Or was she perhaps hiding it like he was? But no - she smelled human. She couldn't be anything else.

What was important was that the silver had been removed. Exhaling, he moderated his tone.

"Sorry," he said, twisting his lips into a grimace, "but I'm not whatever you suspect I am. I'm half-human - that's all."

She nodded slowly, gripping the badge tightly. "I'm sorry too." Someone called her name and she jumped, cheeks reddening. Tsuna came jogging over a few seconds later.

"There you are! And Mukuro too. I forgot to give you a timetable yesterday - you have history first."

Mukuro accepted the timetable from Tsuna, waved a cursory farewell to the two of them, and whisked himself off to his first lesson. After he was gone, Tsuna turned to Chrome, who was staring at her feet.

"Did something happen between you and Mukuro?" he asked. She jumped again and shook her head vigorously. Now she looked embarrassed.

"No, I said something to him that I shouldn't have. Excuse me." She hurried away from him, stuffing something into the pouch at her waist. Tsuna watched her go with an air of vague bemusement. Then shrugging to himself, he followed on the tail end of the last few recruits shuffling into the lift upstairs.

 

Mukuro did not find it difficult to slip into the hunters' routine. The weeks slid past like grains of sand falling through an hourglass, and before he knew it, two months had gone by with the Association none the wiser about his actual identity. He heard nothing from the Elders nor saw any of their representatives when he had to leave the building to feed - necessary if he wanted to maintain a human pallor - so thoughts of them and his task were, if not completely forgotten, at least put aside for the sake of more immediate and mundane worries.

After their initial confrontation, Chrome began to warm to him. She seemed to want to make amends for her earlier assumption by getting to know him better. Mukuro could not have cared less, but pushing her away would do him no favours. He used their 'friendship' to elicit details about the Association that he might not have been able to discover on his own. Chrome happily imparted what she knew, never suspecting an ulterior motive behind his questions.

The division he had sensed earlier amongst the hunters turned out to be accurate: dhampirs were heartily disliked, as he soon discovered. The attitude of human hunters was startlingly vicious towards him at times, though neither he nor those dhampirs who had been here longer had given them any reason to be treated that way. 'Fang' was the derogatory term applied indiscriminately to those with any sort of vampiric blood in their veins; 'fangbitten' to those who associated with them. Conversely, some dhampirs turned to affecting a disdainful attitude towards their human counterparts as a way of retaliation, which only widened the gap further between humans and part-humans.

The labels didn't bother him. He was used to being an outcast. Chrome, though, went quiet every time the word 'fangbitten' was thrown her way. Despite himself, he grew concerned as she went from being animated and attentive to withdrawn and silent. He drew her aside one day and brought it up.

"Ignore them," he said. He tried to coax her chin up so he could meet her eyes. "Or if you'd rather, I won't be offended if you decide to break ties with me."

She shook her head but wouldn't look at him. "It's fine. I'm used to it."

Mukuro had wanted to ask why that was, but she had brushed past him and walked away before he could say anything more.

Two months of easy routine gone in a flash. The first sign of upset to it came close to the beginning of autumn, when the loss of the worst of summer's heat made it easier for him to maintain a reasonable body temperature. People expected you to be warm in summer, but they weren't surprised when your skin was cold come the cooler seasons.

On a day like any other day in weeks gone past, Mukuro examined a set of crossbows that lined one of the walls of the armoury. Not only were the modern designs present, but some slightly more archaic ones as well - ones that he remembered using and being used against him. He picked one of the newer models up and sighted along an imaginary bolt. It felt clunky in his hands. The rigid angles and harsh metallic lines did not sit right with the part of him that was still fond of the sweat-worn wooden contraptions of the past.

The last lesson of each day was a collective one for all students, no matter their progress in their studies. It was to refine and hone their skills with weapons, with the more senior recruits imparting what they knew to the junior. Theoretically. As always, humans and dhampirs kept to their own cliques and did not interact, even though both sides could have learned a thing or two from the other. Mukuro had avoided weapons training until now out of paranoia for all the silver around.

Chrome watched Mukuro return the crossbow and pick up a longbow instead. He pulled the string back easily and released it with a quiet 'phut!'. She noted how much more natural his pose was when he held the wood and flax-string bow compared to his handling of the composite repeater, and quashed the unease that always seemed to creep up on her when she was with him.

"Have you used a bow before?" she asked him in an attempt to distract herself.

"Not as much as the sword," he replied. He took the bow with him and perused a quiver of wooden training arrows. He examined several shafts and discarded a few after seeing their feathers. "A dhampir's strength makes using these easy." With three arrows in hand, he headed towards the firearm range. Since there were so few archers, it doubled as an archery range as well. She followed him and watched as a wooden target rose out of the floor. A few human gunmen practising nearby snickered as he notched an arrow and smoothly drew back the bow, sighting along the shaft. Without seeming to pause to take aim, he released the arrow and it buried itself in the target's centre.

The gunmen weren't laughing any more.

"Too much to the left," he mused, notching another arrow, drawing back, and letting it go just as quickly as before. Again it hit the centre, skewing the first arrow. "Too up." The third arrow lodged a centimetre below dead centre. Mukuro clucked his tongue and lowered the longbow. "I always lose focus when I'm vexed."

Chrome stared at the target. To her eyes, anyone who could hit the centre three times in a row without taking much time to aim was a spectacular archer. But here was Mukuro saying he'd lost focus by the third shot!

"That was amazing," she breathed. He looked at her in surprise then back at the cluster of arrows.

"Oh, yes, I suppose by normal human standards it is," he commented. He glanced at those with guns and the slack expressions of surprise they wore and smirked. "But even if I was entirely human, I wouldn't be content until I was absolutely perfect."

A sharp, irritated voice rang out from behind them. "Hey, are you bastards gonna stand there all day with your guns out or are you gonna fire 'em?! A vamp coulda disembowelled you by now! Git!"

The range rang once more with the sound of gunfire as a silver-haired man with a scowl on his face approached. He wore a suit that was partly rumpled, like it had been slept in, and his tie was askew. Mukuro's eyes picked out the handle of a Glock concealed behind his suit jacket, the gun sitting comfortably in a holster at the man's waist. The man gave Chrome a short nod as he came closer and squinted at Mukuro suspiciously.

"You seen the boss around, Chrome? Can't find him anywhere. Who's the new guy?"

"My name is Rokudo Mukuro," Mukuro interjected before Chrome could reply. "And you are?"

"Gokudera Hayato." The two men sized each other up while Chrome looked between them, wondering if she should step between them. Gokudera fiddled with something in his pocket, started to bring it out, then thought the better of it. Mukuro raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe smoking isn't allowed underground. For humans or dhampirs," he remarked. Gokudera started guiltily and removed his hand.

"I wasn't gonna," the silverette shot back defensively. "And how'd y'know?"

"You stink," he responded simply. Chrome decided to interrupt before the other man could respond.

"Maybe boss went outside for some air," she suggested. "You know he doesn't like sitting in his office all day."

Gokudera threw Mukuro one final sullen look before nodding to Chrome. "I'll take a look around outside." He spun on his heel and strode briskly back to the lifts, shoulders hunched slightly, hands shoved in pockets. Mukuro looked askance at Chrome and she answered without prompting:

"Gokudera is boss' right-hand man," she told him. "He's meant to be the liaison between us and the vampires, but boss likes to go to the meetings in person, so he's more like a bodyguard. Reborn disapproves, but boss said it would build trust between the two races quicker. That's why you haven't met him before today - he's always busy."

Mukuro uttered a sound that could have been disbelief. However, further conversation was stalled by the sound of a loud klaxon, blaring shrilly throughout the entire building.

He clamped his hands to his ears, cringing as the wail induced sharp lightning bolts of agony into his head. His skull _rung_ with the sound, rattling, shaking to the point where he wanted to claw put his own ears. It was worse than the usual human siren: the varying pitch was specifically tailored to reach levels that were meant to incapacitate full-blooded vampires. Human dhampirs, from what he could see as he forced his eyes open past unrelenting waves of pain, did not seem too badly affected.

Chrome and the rest of the recruits leapt into immediate action. Cartridges filled with cheap metallic bullets were instantly discarded; cartridges of silver were instead snatched up by those who wielded firearms, while others grabbed whatever melee weapon they felt comfortable with. A tide of humans bristling with silver weapons flooded into a hidden stairwell that undoubtedly led to the upper floors. Mukuro was still clutching his head as Chrome approached, a long, slender, yet strong silver pole in her hands. She watched as he backed against the wall with a thud that went unheard beneath the siren, then slid to the floor and curled up. He was supposed to be following everyone else. He had been briefed on what course of action to follow should the alarm sound, but he hadn't realised that he himself would be incapacitated by the sound.

He was dimly aware of Chrome leaving briefly and then returning. She crouched and slid something over his head, forcefully pushing his hands away from his ears so she could slide a pair of earmuffs over them. He shuddered as the shriek of the alarm reached its peak with his hands gone. But once the earmuffs were in place, blessed silence fell.

He looked up at her. She was staring at him with an oddly conflicted expression and she didn't say a word. She couldn't with the alarm still wailing. Mukuro could hear it faintly even through the earmuffs.

They waited together, alone. She stood over him - protecting or guarding, he couldn't tell which - until the siren cut off about a half hour later. Mukuro cautiously removed the earmuffs then and set them aside, eyes finally meeting Chrome's.

"Dhamphirs shouldn't be affected by that siren," she said in confusion. And then: "How?"

The butt of her silver staff moved towards him. Mukuro flattened himself against the wall, lips almost pulling aside to bare his teeth before he caught himself. "I'm not like the other dhampirs," he growled.

The silver weapon threatened to touch his cheek. Mukuro knocked it away, thankful for his choice to wear gloves, and got to his feet. Under her scrutiny, he found that he was in a bad temper. He didn't appreciate the reminder that he was only here because of his difference. Nothing about him made sense: he was invulnerable to sunlight, and yet had a strong anathema to silver; he could burn as easily as any vampire in a fire, yet could play with small flames as a clown juggled balls; his strength marked him out as more than a vampire, yet his strange, inconsistent ability to move anywhere through darkness was unique to him. No matter if they were human or vampire, it didn't stop them fearing him, fearing an anomaly. Chrome wasn't aware of any of this, but she was the only person around for him to take his anger out on at the moment.

"Before you ask 'how', maybe you should ask 'why'," he snarled at her, taking small, vicious pleasure in how taken aback she was by his vehemence. He strode off angrily, at a pace that quickly left her behind. He used his natural swiftness to bound up the stairs until he reached the level where the dormitories were. There were students stationed in the area outside the stairwell and the lifts, now relaxed and chatting amicably with the alarm shut off. They too stared as he whisked past them to his room, the echo as he shut the door loudly behind him probably resonating through the entire floor. They would ask why he hadn't helped in the drill. He'd have to think of a plausible excuse later.

The lacklustre furnishings of his room bore the heat of his gaze without comment. They, at least, wouldn't judge him. They wouldn't say something that upset him, intentionally or not. He'd barely taken two paces towards his bed when he stopped, an uncomfortable chill crawling up his spine. A feeling of being watched.

He whipped around, eyes scanning the room, every corner, every crevice. He knew this feeling. Someone had their eyes on him. But who, and where? There was neither sight nor scent of anyone who had been inside recently. Even cautiously extending his mental reach yielded nothing. Who could hide themselves so perfectly that even his heightened senses were unable to detect them?

Disturbed, he turned back around - and felt his slow-beating heart stop.


End file.
